My hands play a sensual raga
upon my sultry body,
the bells of my breasts, nipples tinkling like kartals,
the drumbeat of my clitoris
throbbing like Zakir Hussein on the tabla.
Unbridled longing is my siren song.
My bed is a magic carpet from Vijayanagara.
My inner Tantric temple is made of molten rose quartz,
garlanded with jasmine flowers,
smoky with the scent of sandalwood,
the pink fleshy gates inscribed with lilting golden Sanskrit letters,
“lotus-dwelling, place of radiance.”
Enter me and you will enter Shangri-la.
Sweet and tart is my rasa.
My sweat is Himalayan salt;
my juicy mangoes are lusciously ripe.
My hot little pussy drips neem honey and unctuous amrita;
tease your cock against me
and I will rub this on you
like a salve.
Suck on my breasts
and taste my sacred milk of Wisdom,
receive the bittersweet Ayurvedic medicine of my Love,
for I am a Goddess with many arms and many hearts
and many g spots
and I will eat you like Durga into oblivion
until you cum
hard and aching and deliciously liquid
all over my lips,
with the knowledge
of Absolute Shivashakti
as I swallow you down.