I'm telling
you this
but you’re only half
listening, half
dreaming.
The inhalation rises
from your belly to your crown,
gently exploding in the blue sky
of bewilderment.
Your exhalation falls, poured back
into the sweet
black pit
of yearning.
Your breath is the Goddess.
I'm telling
you this again,
but you’re only half
listening, half
dreaming.
Her body is soft as cotton-down
spun out of diamonds
that dangle from holes in the night.
Her soul is
your spine,
keen as a blade of lightning.
She pierces your chest,
rhythmic as the moon,
so that you move beyond
death, into
love.
Don’t try to
comprehend her.
Sophia-wisdom cannot be known,
only tricked by a gift
of perfume into murmuring.
Only tasted and touched like a pillow
filled with
maddened bees.
Now lay your head upon her breast.
Get stung with the venom of emptiness.
She is the
wine inside breathing,
the warrior’s sword that passes
through every heart with a single
stroke, beheading
the believer.
Her breasts express ecstatic milk
for those of us
who were never born.
Photo: I took this on a moon walk.
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