The Red Lips of the Octopus

The red lips of the octopus

Are more than myriad stars of night.

The great beast writhes in fiercer form than thirsty stallions amorous

I would they clung to me and stung. I would they quenched me with delight.

The red lips of the octopus.

They reek with poison of the sea

Scarlet and hot and languorous

My skin drinks in their slaver warm, my sweats his wrapt embrace excite

The heavy sea rolls languishly o’er the ensanguined kiss of us.

We strain and strive, we die for love. We linger in the lusty fight

We agonize; our club becomes more cruel and more murderous.

My passion splashes out at last. Ah! with what ecstasy I bite

The red lips of the octopus.

Aleister Crowley, circa 1898, from the Amsterdam Notebook [via]

[Update 2021mar7: Turns out this had previously been published, and appears at The Octopus in The Winged Beetle.]