Absinthia

by KA Opperman

                                                             art  by Drew Roulette          

She comes to me from out the emerald gloom

That gathers in the shadows of my room,

When I am nodding, drunk with sharp perfume—

The breath of absinthe from my crystal glass. 

She is a languid, strange, smaragdine girl,

Whose verdant tresses flowingly unfurl. 

Pale sprigs of mugwort weave her crown, and curl

Around bare arms that beck from dream's morass.

Her mouth of wormwood—ah, her bitter kiss!— 

Delivers me into the green abyss.

Upon her bosom's herby couch, the bliss

Of poisonous nepenthe fills my soul.     

And yet Absinthia so soon is gone,

And in the liquor's cloudy celadon,

I see a sad reflection, worn and wan—  
A ghoulish thing deformed by time's grim toll.

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The Sad Tale of Suzy Yen
by Johnny Strike

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