Lore of the Passion for Life


You were a match
struck upon me.
Within anticipating air we sparked
like flint.

And so I ignited
with the flame of desire,
exquisite anguish
spreading molten hot
between my thighs.

You entered me.
Unlocked me with your key.
Undid me.
Undid the buttons,
undid the strings,
bared me to my panties,
fingered wetness and lace,
opened the pink lips of my labia like a gate,
and came inside me.

You penetrated me.
You took me.
Made me tremble.
You were inside my mouth, inside my pussy, inside my ass,
inside my mind, inside my heart.
I found you inside my void,
an ephemeral imago.
I lay there naked, vulnerable, turned inside out to touch the edges of you,
to feel your skin against mine,
to smell the incense smoke in your hair.

You took advantage of me.
I was ripe like fruit;
lunch for a hungry ghost.
You bit my breasts, pressed the warmth of your tongue against my nipples, teased with your teeth.
We ate each other.
I sucked.
I swallowed.
But like a burning bush,
that burns in the radiance of the divine fire,
I was never consumed.

the moment of passion can be.
Mysterious and luminous
the stories of this life shine like many suns
over the darkness
of each heart’s nighttime.
And some are so good
that they become told
and retold,
smoldering in the recounting
like a wood stove warming the house,
and flaring, as their tinder is stoked,
to become lore,
long into the night…
until the fire goes out.