Below I have transcribed from memory one of my first poems, written when I was in high-school, which was praised in gushes and squeals by my fanclub at the time, that is to say my mother, a few close friends, and the girl I wrote it for (who was dating a total douche-bag). Nectar of the Mortal God was also published by American University of Paris’s literary journal, the Paris/Atlantic journal, 2003 edition, and even today it remains one of my favourites. This is the “thing” that more or less inspired me to self-publish a poetry collection, which I find now rather embarrassing, called The Twisted Fruits of Tedium. It features a back-cover picture of a me with a John Conner-style bowl cut and Gothic clothes, looking coldly into the camera with an “intellectual gaze”; this would be today described as an “emo” look. I have burnt most of the 300 or so copies, but some remain scattered across the continents.
It’s a love/heartbreak poem (give me a break, I was 17). And don’t laugh.
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Nectar of the Mortal God
The night of Adam’s Eve,
tongues entwined.
Those ambrosial lips
imbibed in mind,
did intoxicate; the kiss,
distilled by tears and time,
insorbed me into Eden’s womb
and now, with Heaven sterilized,
my soul,
the mute and vacant tomb,
lusts the liquor
of creation.
Yann Rousselot 
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