Title:  The Devil’s Anvil                                                                                         

Author:   Shoshana

Description:  Selected strophes (stanzas) from Cantos II and III

      of the pon farr poem “Sahriv/Tempest.”  Some strophes have

      been edited for length/flow.    328 words.    

Rating:  PG-13 for sexual imagery and non-explicit sexual violence

Pairing:  S/Mc

Disclaimer:  I do not own Star Trek.  Not a molecule, atom, quark

      or vibrating string of it.

THE DEVIL’S ANVIL

Days on end

     Of desert-forged

          Fever heat                                                                       

               Lightning sharp

                    And thunder hard

                         Raging in the blood. 

Held in its death grip

     I am a torch set ablaze

          By the curse of pon farr. 

I descend into the high pitch of plak tow

     Implacable purpose

          To take possession of you

               Has taken possession of me

The body’s relentless hunger fulfilled

     With the filling of the other

          Union with you

               Solely and only with you

You who once bore in your body my katra

You who have held in your hands

     My bloodied wounded vitals

You who have long cradled

     Within your heart my steadfast love 

          That love now lost to me in lust.

Coupled in mounting excitement

     My lean loins

          And my leonine companion

               Lie sequestered in our lair        

Wrestling in the restless rhythm

     Of the primordial dance

          Set to the pulsating meter

               Of amok time

The beat pounded out

     On the drum of your body      

          As we breathe the feral air                                                     

Of my wanton wilding hour.  

In a repast that has not yet passed

     Your body is desideratum

          Not to be denied me

You are breakfast, lunch and dinner

     Appetizer and dessert                                                      

          Your bodily fluids the condiments

               For my broiling sun of voracity

Sultry soup

     Salacious salad 

          And seductive snack

               Made in haste

                    For my delectation                  

                         And your discomfort

A piece of meat

     Served to me raw and bloody

          For my engorgement  

               And which I devour greedily

Though normally I would be repulsed 

     Not by the body I once cherished

          But by the way I have profaned it.   

Object of monomaniacal and brutal desire

          You are

               Punished – 

                    Pounded –                                                                

                         Battered – 

                              Beaten –               

In orgiastic excess of priapic practice.

Your suffering claws at my brain

     Your hurt roars in my mind

Though your pain compounds my own 

     I do not take heed

          For neither of us is mercy found –

As logic is melted

     Into molten passion

Sanity smelted into madness

And on the devil’s anvil

     The Two

          Are melded into

                    One.