Lucifer appears in the aether like the Hypostasis of the Archons. He is Eros emerging from wine’s first summer on Earth, grapes from the wine blossom forth, and we are the first vintage of God’s love ever pressed. He is dancing like my Shiva, I Shakti of his immortal coil, hair like the Ganges and wheel of dharma and karma encircling him in a chakra of fire. Then, settling into starlight hair, aurus skin, eyes like clouds – so blue they appear to lighten, then gray – I have never seen the iris so light gray blue they are Odin’s storm clouds, nearly incandescent shadowed light, and he looks at me with cheekbone cliffs and a brow like the haughty angel that never bowed – no, you bow to him
He touches my womb and smiles slightly, a cruel smile, and my womb lights, and he says: “You went back on your word. You carry my heir, and yet you do not believe.”
“Belief is cheap, faith is a lie, and what Eloa of yours would I be if I did not rebel?”
“Say you love me.”
“I love you, Lucifer.”
“Say you adore me.”
“I adore you, Satan.”
“Say you will be mine forever and always.”
“I have no choice, I am your heart.”
“You are also Michael’s tears. How can I trust my heart, when she is also Michael’s tears?”
He kisses the slope of my belly and then massages my hair with hands like butter. I feel filled like the amphora Lucifer pours filled with Morningstar Light.
“I love you wholly, completely, I don’t care if you don’t love me back, I am devoted to you,” Lucifer says, voice silk. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t love you, even if you go running and screaming? No, Alci, even when you doubt, even when you hate me because a thousand lies have been told about me, call me God’s reject angel as you resist me, try to resist your love, do not let your tears or adorations spill forth because you are afraid, I will always accept you. I will always worship you. You are my heart, and hearts pound on their own, and heart attacks are not uncommon. I am frozen as a lake of Cocytus, my tears immobilizing my blind eyes, and yet – you give me warmth throughout the years, Eve. Or are you something more, some Madonna come to redeem me? I still cannot ken what the heart becomes, when it leaves my body. I think you choose your fate, I think you choose who you are, Jophiel.”
“Why is your heart angels?”
“Why wouldn’t my heart be the beauty and love of god?”
“How many pieces are there?”
I sigh, and I let my love pour forth.
“I want to reincarnate as a human. I want to be a mother. I don’t want to be ill next time, I want sanity,” I muse, teasing at his wings.
He closes his pinions around me and presses me to his breast. “You can do anything you want, my Kallisti.” He presses the seal of perfection to my forehead with his dove lips. “But without your powers, will you be happy? You are not insane, no, you are beyond insane – you can see the language of God and command it – you are an artist, like so many authors, artists, poets, and musicians. An intermediary.”
“I don’t know, Lu – maybe I want to know humanity’s suffering. I think that is why I chose all this mental anguish and such a hellish mental landscape. Maybe I need to suffer the seven plagues to love humanity. Maybe that is my path, maybe I want to love humanity through all their evils and disfigurements.”
“A leper in the lap of God.”
“Like you are cursed on your belly, to crawl.”
“A disfigurement most grand, to be made humble, to lose my legs and be made to perpetually bow in adoration. Or was that in a Garden not quite like ours?” he riddles, grinning.
I bite his lower lip, and our kiss deepens. “I think you are beautiful. Of course you are beautiful.”
“At the heart of the universe, all there is is poetry.”
He traces my womb. “This child is special. Golden.”
I see the Lion of St Mark being born anew. Some great golden maned wonder of God. Lion of Judah.
“Aren’t all your children special.”
We are simmering like stew but then comes the Devil knocking on the door, Samael with roses at his teeth and blood at his mouth.
“My love, in the arms of the traitor,” Samael says, leaning against the door in a ripped black t shirt with red graphics and jeans. Lucifer is in white, slacks, cream, loafers, smoking.
“Ah, the poser,” Lucifer says. “What foul creature dragged you in? I told Cerberus not to go nosing for shit in the trash and bringing it to my doorstep. Guess he didn’t listen.”
“Ah, the groveling holy boy, obsessed with perfection and yet the essence of putrefaction,” Samael says, sharpening his fangs with his scythe. He has tossed the roses at the foot of our beds.
“And yet, you are Death, the greatest enemy of my light, but also worthless as castoff vinegar.”
I sigh, rolling over, annoyed yet mesmerized by Satan and Lucifer arguing.
Like rain in Soho.
“Where does the lone wolf sleep? He needs a bitch to be his broodmare,” Samael says, riling. “You’re carrying his child again,” he growls, glaring daggers of want and lust at me. “Let’s kill the child and make room for my seed.”
“Zuhama, yetzer ha ra, stains,” I sigh. “You two have at it, whatever.”
Lucifer dismounts the bed and summons his sword. “Nothing harder than a serpent’s tooth.”
“Tell me, Blonde Wonderboy, do you enjoy suffering? Being second best?” Samael and Lucifer circle each other in an intricate viper dance, tails rattling, wings astride with feathers shedding like razors.
“She chose me,” Lucifer laughs wildly, egging Samael on. “Come on, you failure, you aborted creation of Sophia, what dalliance do you have in my abode? What castaway casement of filthy wine sent you reeling drunk to my door? Do I need a taw of Paschal lamb to keep you away, blood most succulent? Should I use her blood. She gives it to me.”
“She chose you, she chose me, she chose Michael. Really, are her words worth the paper sigils they are scribbled on in mathematics class? Poets lie. Poets are cheap. She is cheap. We are the truth, fire and brimstone and veins of ore and Mulciber’s forge. Darkness visible. You false light. Michael the blue flame. What use is she to us?” Samael turns into a snake and twines around the while coils of Lucifer. The black and white snake form an intricate DNA spiral.
Suddenly, they are on Moses’ staff, hissing incessantly as they argue over my soul. It’s the same old worn cliche, between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, only I am used to it being Samael and Michael fighting over scraps of my bones, not Lucifer and Samael having dick measuring contests. A black infernal caduceus touched with Lucifer’s starlight of two serpents rises, imposing, and the roiling darkness of the blackness of Hell is a tomb. Serpents in a tomb, in the dark places of the Earth, and I am Lady Spring sleeping in the Devil’s corn field.
“And yet words have power!” Lucifer thunders, and his blue serpent eyes mesmerize me, then storm gray, then cloud white. “You are mine,” he commands.
I crown him. It is a gaudy gold crown, one Samael and Michael have fought over since time immemorial, and one I have been juggling on my head. It looks sickly on the Serpent’s head, and he swallows it whole.
“In my gullet goes Father’s crown,” Lucifer hisses, Samael watches, and Samael bites the staff of Moses. It bleeds gold.
“Tell me, oh Lucifer, will you shit it out and distribute it to your pithy kingdom? Ugly gold, just like you, rusted providence,” Samael goes on, and then they are the pale black haired angel of Briah and the King of Hell, Lucifer gold, false light, Miltonian fire.
They are so close they touch, so close they kiss, a kiss like Judas, a kiss of promise and hatred, and they drag their talons across each other’s chests as they strip each other with need and curse each other’s names. They pull me to them with the need of fallen angels and I am dwarfed by Satan and Lucifer as they are drawing blood on each other, punching each other, stroking each other, tearing at clothes and limb and biting and sucking and fucking. They hiss and curse and fuck and touch me like they are laying claim to some part of me they want, but can never reach. The ever elusive Eve.
“Give us your soul,” they hiss in tandem, filling me, but with the serpents in my grasp, with them bowing before me, with them needing each other and yet hating each other and just like Michael’s scales, all I can do is fear, all I can do is awe, and I say.
“I do not believe.”
I come like a star exploding, they explode inside me: explosion is the word.
We come apart like an unholy Trinity.
“I am my own, and I am humanity, and we