Evocation of Mars

Say Hail!

My lover comes bounding through thorns and thistles. He is a hound, a hunter, a hungry mouth. He marches to the clang of hammers and pounding of drums. His long stride is lupine; his strong arms are ursine. His jaw is jasper, his eyes glowing garnets, and crown carnelian. He howls, growls, shakes, and breaks open the soft tissues of the earth in a filigree of fissures.

His mane grows thick with viscera. His blood-drenched mandibles stink of sulfur, and he wears a cologne of corpse flowers. His veins pulse with miasmic ichor. The ever present precipice, he sharpens his canines on ivory spines and slakes his thirst with sanguinary crimson rivers. A twirling whirlwind of blades and blood, his path runs quick with carnage and quivering limbs. Exhausted lovers struggle to catch their breath in his bedchamber.

His kingdom contains fields of conquest, jagged outcroppings, rivers rushing with venom. He makes his home on a forlorn hilltop covered in stones and skulls. His fortress is a blackened abomination of writhing limbs - the rendered fat of his victims smeared across its walls and their flayed skin fluttering flag-like in the breeze. A furnace at its core burns so brightly it extinguishes every trace of fuel, bathing the place in baleful rays, a red radiance of rapturous rupture.

You are not even carrion for his crows, but I am his quarry and kindred. His knife-like eyes burrow into my body. His feverish incandescence singes my skin. He cups my body in chitinous claws and makes me wait on a meathook, fearfully eager to be eaten - to be carved up by carnassials, sliced open by scalpels, to have my rib cage licked clean. Hold me like a half-forged sword - molten and glowing - and beat me in the anvil of your embrace.