Eric Miller's Art

Tanz des Aschenbechers

Menagerie of personality juxtaposed in simple setting’s madness,

Delicate relations confiding clandestine fantasies about a not so secret rendezvous,

Pretension owning, with a chain and an iron fist, woman,

All things have their price, even the embrace of a loved one,

And the impure contemplation dirtying my hands with wanted filth,

Will impregnate my mind until I am home and alone,

And hoping that someone, too, is watching,

Let all be privy to you tickling my neck with tender kisses,

For you know not who’s I tickle on a cold winter’s night,

I never thought I’d envy a bottle being stroked by hot wax’s warm embrace,

But there I was hypnotized by jealousy and envying the humanity of an inanimate object,

How long it’s been,

I am a vampire thirsting for the blood and soul of virgins to be tainted,

Let me desecrate their holy vessels for that next poor bastard who comes along

We naked apes shamefully withholding the fruit of our loins under a parody of cloth,

Jiggling our goods in rhythmic dance under the guise of decency,

Pheromones beckoning that Silver Back and licking that taste of blood while biting your lip,

Then with some assemblage of dignitus,

We spin yarns of romance and the Holy of Holies,

And allow our children to believe that an angel too visited our mothers,

For He did love tax collectors, beggars, and whores