Photo Credit: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Renaissance Tapestries

Fallen Gods


I: Sanctum

For years, I did not understand
that I could look forward
once again to the weekend,
with its discarded rituals of leisure,
its bookless torpor;

but then you came, Truth,
with your body of light and quickness,
shouldering the drum you beat,
hide and silk stretched over hollowed bone.
Its leather strap marks
your skin, kisses flesh and cloth
until you take it down and speak,
sing truth with hands of flame,
red velvet vibrations from silk and skin
pulsing through my skull, my lips,
my blood.

A wreath of smoke veils the light of your face,
blue glass of eye and pink of tongue and lip.
You lie back: cloth presses light, your curves
and lines stand out, loose rays of sun
confined, dear Truth, confined. They should not be;
I beg you, give your body
the exposure it commands,
combine your blaze of belly
with the sun which covers me,
cast off your clothes,
display your fire and muscle,
as the song of Truth pulses,
presses, pulses in my brain.

II: Iron Path

The song of Truth's drum
is rigid, strict in form and measure,
and walking its path may be painful;

but she tosses her hair, opens her shirt in the night
and her body's saffron fires ignite the minds
of those around her. That light, scented herbs
and lust, it spreads, infects, until our blood itself
blazes forth with truth.
We spin around the fire and sing the wordless song
of Truth, the song she teaches with her hands

our tongues respond.

I walk the path because, once seen,
the light of truth is etched
behind the eyes of those who see;
I can do naught
but kneel at the feet of Truth
and stroke her ankles, press my lips
to belly and breast,
and beg attention;
for though the path of truth is hard
and often cold, her hands
blaze forth with heat, and justice.

Your touch ignites.

Truth, there is truth
in the rhythm of your drum.
Truth, there is truth
in the fire of your hair.
Truth, there is truth
in the curve of your cheek.
Truth, there is truth
in the heat of your smile.
Truth, there is truth
in the light of your eyes.
Truth, there is truth
in the silk of your breast.
Truth, there is truth
in the arch of your back.
Truth, there is truth
in the rock of your thighs.
Truth, there is truth
in the touch of your hand.
Truth, there is truth
in the strength of your path
and I will follow you.

III: Fallen Gods

Truth, my dear, what possessed you
to come to earth and dangle divine fruit
in front of mortal men? Did you,
a prodigal daughter, leave your home
to taste the spice of worldly ways,
or more like Ishtar, did you succumb
to the charms of earthly men?

No matter, that, for you are here,
beside me, sitting on the stairs.
I touch your ankle, search your eyes;
Yes, you say, my question still unasked,
Yes, I'll teach you to walk
the path of truth, and Truth,
open myself and radiate,
expose my light to your touch, your tongue.

Her hand on my cheek is lust and current.

But if you would follow me, mortal man, know this:
my light inside you burns, demands
devotion, constant and quick,
for all the time you walk, and pray.

Her lips on mine are honey and sex.

IV: Breathing Gold

This is not sex; rather, it is
a melting. I touch you
and your body changes, flows;
you open to me, and in that opening, taste
flesh and bone. My body sparked with light:

Light, quickness. Waves of lust.
In dying darkness we reside,
sole occupants of this world of skin
and sweat, finger and tongue.

Guided by your hands, I learn
old secrets, kept in desperate
darkness, hidden from truth until dust
settles, thick and rank, upon them.
Exposing Truth, these secrets are exposed.
Letting go of them, I come unto you and into you;
Letting go of them, I am one with Truth.

My body, sparked with light, is again
flesh and bone. You, opened to me, taste
of flowers, changing, flowing.
I touch you, and our bodies melt:
this is not sex.

V: Sataranum

The blaze is lit, the swirling dance begins.
No fire for this: your bright nudity is enough, Catching
against the rocks, while I, disciple,
move in time, cooling you with sprinkled water.

I can only touch you now and then, as ritual commands;
hand to brow, and lips to inner thigh, here and here.
Our purity must not be compromised. The writings say
if truth and her disciple are to cleanse
the world around them, this dance
must be performed just so. And so
we bend and twirl, twist and writhe, the wordless
song of truth shows forth thy praise;

your eyes blaze forth, blue beauty in the dance,
and sing their own song, withering the fear
and darkness all around us. Sing the pain away,
I hear from somewhere we cannot yet see,
drive it back and let us live in truth.

You smile, calm now, and sit; I follow, as the writings say.
The time has come to take the sacrament, and touch the world
with new light: to sing the pain away.

VI: Sacrament

The only light is the fire of your hair,
gleaming from the hourglass blade
of the knife you hold.
Your smile, your eyes convince me
no harm will come of this.
Our hands together, fingers
pointed upward, blade between.
You pull, gently, slowly,
curve of blade biting our palms.
Turn the knife, slide it
from between our hands.
Your fingers slip down mine,
hand grips.
I do the same, and we press tight,
our blood commingling inside flesh and light,

and your eyes a voice
(conscience? science?)
in my head, whispering
"This is important.
This is important."

I feel your blood within me,
burning clean
through artery and vein.
Your lips firm honey on mine,
your body warms my flesh
as your blood warms my blood.
My eyes close
and without them I can still see
your face, the light of truth,
your curves, the blood in my body.
This kiss will last forever,
or an instant;
your blood burns it into me,

and the voice, your eyes
(conscience? science?)
in my head, whispering
"This is important.
This is important."

VII: Khomat

What are eyes, in this world of truth?
Distractions from what is and what could be.
My sense are my lips and tongue, my hands.
I need no more to touch you, speak your name.

I need no more to see our perfect world
where we bathe in streams of light, eat hiney
and lotuses, always have time for love.
The world we travel now is just a road,

thick with stones and brush. But at the end
is sun, and glory, love and violet water.
Together, we can walk into this light, but not
without sacrifice, dear Truth, not without tokens

of desire and dedication. We must exchange
that which we hold precious, that which makes us
who we are. Be with me now, Truth, for your face
is what I wish to see last in this world.

VIII: Dusk Red Wall

In order to see you better
I have put out my eyes.
The world around me faded
to grades of light, and heat,
shades of red. Red of your hair,
red of fire, of sun on mountains' blood.

I have now lips to kiss you,
a tongue to sing your song.
I have ears to listen to your drum.
I have an image, wreathed in fire,
of you, the way you looked
at your most beautiful.

I see your hair, red fullness
liquid fluttering around your face,
framing sapphire idols' eyes.
I see your lips, pink and small,
awaiting kisses, tongue touching
to moisten, or invite.
I see the curve of your neck,
subtle falling into your shirt,
open, drawing stares of lust.
I see your breasts,
gentle smoothness leading
to the belly I love to kiss.
I see your thighs,
the dusky patch between,
dark fires ignited, promising.
I see your ankles,
alabaster white and beautiful,
pressed against me, stroking.

This is what I need,
more than eyes.
Your image keeps me sated
and content, willing,
always, to spread your truth.

IX: Valley

I go now, Tiresias
with my red-haired oracle
to guide me

into the dark world whose paths
we must walk
to bring them truth,
and pass on.

I carry your blood,
your sacrifice,
in my body,
your words in my mind
and on my lips.

It is for you I do this,
and it shall ever be,
my love, who makes the weekend
bearable again.

RPB


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