Breathe Poetry Into Me
I had a partner who laughed when I said: “Respect the Goddess.”
He didn’t want to make love to the blood she was bleeding through me.
I said: “Respect the Goddess.”
He laughed.
I thought: “She will come for you, until you learn how to tremble.”
The same way she kept coming for me and taught me how to tremble.
The same way she keeps coming for me to teach me how to tremble.
Tremble.
Tremble.
Tremor.
Tremor.
With every shake of my matter, the Mother shatters me, daggers me, matters me and I am on my knees crying my devotional tears, awestruck by her lightning body and the sweetness of dissolving my fears.
I ask again: “How can we live together, if we can’t die together?”
No, you cannot make love to the flesh only. If you want the heart, you must love the blood. To sing to the blood is to sing to the Heart. To sing to the blood is to sing to the bones.
Is there anything more true than singing to one another, in the tender night?
You want to play the sacred instrument of 72000 nerve channels runneth through me, runneth over, rivers gushing?
You want to strike your fingertips on the vibrating, humming strings of the temple harp?
But will you drink at the river bank?
Will you bow before entering the temple?
Will you offer your tremble?
You want to tear the ripe pomegranate open with your teeth?
You want to feast and flush in tender flesh?
But will you hold Nature by your bare hands?
Will you rub her in ghee?
Will you offer a devotional song to her many names?
Will you let her drip on your tongue?
You want to soar in desire?
Get ecstatic on eternal erotica?
You want to rip the silky fabric off the flesh?
But will you spill poetic rubies upon your lips?
Will you listen to the sound of Her — tremble?
Will you smother devotion on her adorned skin?
You can’t cry to the sky: “Awaken me”, and not be shook by the matter of the Mother.
Humility is to learn how to tremble.
Life is to learn how to tremble.
You want to feel your power? It is not yours. It is the Mothers.
You must learn how to tremble.
Uninitiated I ventured into the land of the Mother, hypnotized by the calling of a song I know I heard before in some distant, foreign land. For a while I thought the song was about me. Foolishly.
The Mother did what any good mother would do. She shook me awake.
I bow, I crawl, through the muddy, bloody night.
I say: “This is bitter.”
She says: “This is the path to sweetness.”
Through the deep sea
Through the deep trees.
I see cords and ties.
I see in my body bound, something unfurling to come alive
I say: “Unbind me”
She says: “Unbound, you live in the bound”
I cry by the truth of separation. I want not to look.
The more I look, the more I see.
Her hands on my cheeks, she says: “This is me too.”
Time is terrifying
Time is a Mother
Love-stricken poets longing for longing
Lighting bodies alit, alive with the eternal self pleasuring trembling soil.
Bodies colliding in waves, and the grass is not always greener
But the Earth is deeper.
Peel the Sun like an Orange,
I melt in her sweet hands like butter
Every sharp angle curved, soft
By her will
I die twice to be reborn
I tremble
I gasp:
“Breathe Poetry into me,”
She whispers my name:
“Erotica Poëtica”
So beautiful!! ❤️🔥