My hands play a sensual raga

upon my sultry body,

fingertips grazing

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,

padmalaya shriksha:

“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,

momentarily illuminated

with the knowledge

of Absolute Shivashakti

as I swallow you down.