Ecstatic union
she comes to me as a
wet fire
where I must again and again and again
worship,
douse her flame
as she surrenders her emptiness;
quench her fire with my tongue and lips,
her body is given,
her cup of supplication flows over my pilgrim's kiss,
with sweet tasting honey,
a living offering
from heaven to earth,
she rises again
bringing salvation,
not born of pain
but joyful and happy,
not truth or righteousness
but ecstatic
union
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 557 times
Written on 2009-12-03 at 13:08
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