Marchioness Of Mock Turtles Poet I do not know?

Gancanagh

Taste the toxin in your skin
I'll become a slave to whim
Follow you where weary you tread
Won't give up until I'm dead
Waste away to whispers clutch
Emaciated of your touch
Hold me tight and fill this need
In your absence my heart does bleed
Fingertips are fix enough
I don't need your heartfelt love
Hand in mine your opium feeds
Only you can fill my needs
If I knew how to return
To that moment of the turn
When I ended normal life
And fell upon your broken knife
I'll gladly lose so very much
Waiting for your toxic touch

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Marchioness Of Mock Turtles April 23, 2010 at 4:55 PM Also, it is said in the mythology that he not only seduces women, but that in fact he has a chemical in his skin that makes women literally addicted to his touch, and that mortals afflicted by the addiction can waste away from withdrawal. In this poem, the Gancanagh is himself a metaphor for insanity.

Marchioness Of Mock Turtles April 23, 2010 at 4:53 PM I love to find people who know what I'm talking about :) Thank you, James.

James Fraser April 23, 2010 at 4:10 PM The male faerie in Irish mythology that is known for seducing human women, enjoyable poem Charlotte >> James