Appeasing The Jabberwock

© 2012 David Jasmin-Green

It might have been brillig,
but I'm not entirely sure of that word's etymology
so I can't say for sure.....
I cant remember stumbling across anything
even vaguely resembling slythy toves -
which are lithe and slimy white badgers, would you believe it? -
but absence of evidence isn't necessarily evidence of absence.
Is it, honey?
Something was gyring and gymbling, though, believe me.
I could smell it, I knew it was coming,
or I was as close to knowing as damn-it is to fuck.
As I might have guessed if I knew you and knew myself a little better then,
the swirling vortex and the tortured expressions were brewing
in your head and mine rather than in any imaginary wabe.

Vagrant, erect and glad and utterly insane for a while
my crystal ball went inexplicably murky
and I was rendered blind.
“Lead me to the Mad Hatter's tea party, you vindictive little cunt!” I cried,
so you led and I followed
like a ram to his glorious slaughter.

Sensing the coming storm
I slaked my wrath upon vacuous nothings,
each and every one detrimental to my not so secret quest.
I let rip without thought, without mercy
into the uncharted territory behind your eyes,
eyes red with monstrous flame
more like the jeepers, creepers where'd you get those peepers
of a destroying angel than a lover.
I blamed you for the storm that was gathering strength,
but it takes two to tango -
I understand that now, my love.

I was less than nothing, for only victory counted,
and you were a sweet enough nobody
as far as I was concerned.
Authoritatively, I yelled in mid rant,
“I'm only reflecting your rage, babes, an all too frequent rage
that you deny wholeheartedly, you donkey,
a rage during which you care for nobody, for nothing
excepting, of course, your shallow sodding self.
Pack it in, woman, or we're through!”

Inane aliens, we chanted our well-worn mantras maliciously
and made vicious thrusts as we traversed empty space,
a space with limitless room for expansion
and a daft mutual taboo upon the ownership of real estate.
We boldly and rather stupidly travelled
to a place where love and hatred exist on equal terms,
though love was indisputably the most distant star.

Teeth clashed in an electric heat
and your cold claws hollowed my rabid skull,
but in the very next instant
your fingers wandered seemingly of their own accord
and your intrepid lips explored my partly sheathed weapon
without my explicit permission, you conniving bitch.
“You can pack that in as well, you shape-shifting twat,”
I mumbled as I helplessly fingered and tongued
the same fruimous bandersnatch that my wise old man
strongly advised me to shun.

Not long afterwards I was indulging in a spot of free-style whiffling,
and you burbled like I don't know what.
You were still calling me a wanker and a bastard, amongst other things,
even as I started to jab hungrily at your gagging Jabberwock.
One two, one two, through and through
my manxome clitoral foe I sought,
and desperately fought at the same time.
My vorpal sword went snicker-snack
(well, it didn't really, it was more of a slish-slosh, but I couldn't resist it),
and I seriously doubted if I would end up galumphing anywhere
with your pretty head in my saddle bag,
never mind home.

“The dastardly deed is done for the last time,” I thought.
“This is the final battle, and this bloody war is over,
but right now I'm too elated to give a toss.”
“Make the most of it, fuck face,”
a voice screamed in my part mimsy fogged, part frabjous mind
as I idiotically calloohed and callayed,
my balls turning ridiculous somersaults.
To tell the truth I only realised it was you
as you came beneath me and I swiftly followed suit.
“Because tomorrow,” you gasped as soon as you caught your breath,
“my insatiable cunny might well grow teeth.
Then you'll be really fucked - you mark my words.
Now come to my arms, you tosser,
I mean my beamish boy,
'cos I ain't even nearly finished with you yet.”