Sexual Reliquary
by LAKE FOWLER



There’s a box in a hole

In grave deeply dug

Under a granite stone

And growing purple daisies



No bones lie within

No worms crawl without

A single image of a heart’s dread lust

Is all that’s lain to rest tonight



He waits in the dark

The shadows slipping under the door

The moon’s pale view

Showing him what he already knows



There’s an altar inside

The glows with its own sallow life

And behind the closed, locked doors

A beat that’s seen but

Can never be heard



No guardian blocks the keyhole

And no demon tempts one near

But he will remember his passion’s wither

When nobody’s left to worship



A god of love has died tonight

But the reliquary is never

Forever empty
HOME | FICTION | POETRY | DIARY | SUBMISSIONS | CONTACT | ADVERTISE | ABOUT US
Copyright © 2005-2009 Bare Back Magazine, all rights reserved.
Please contact the authors if you'd like to reprint articles on this site.  All copyrights are retained by original authors
ABOUT LAKE FOWLER:
LAKE FOWLER is unbearably excited to be through with so much traveling.  He's
spent the last two years touring the country from coast to coast, border to border,
and has finally found a home in beautiful New Mexico.  He spends his days writing
fiction and poetry and recording audio stories for various erotic fiction websites.  
His story "Smoke Rings" is forthcoming from the anthology Relationships and
Other Stuff and his reading of the sensual tale "Something Different" is now
available on A Woman's Goodnight's website.  He can be reached at
LakeFowler@hotmail.com.