My body is a temple, gleaming and forbidding,
crying out to be desecrated. False gods
stand at the altars of my breasts, of
my cunt, of my lips, desperate
to rip the gates open and
enter the warm darkness of my flesh.


It is silent here, as it should be in the confines
of a sacred place. Our voices dare not rise
lest we disturb the sifting smoke that we
have created.


Here, lay your hand here. You
can touch the skin and
you can have me, whole.

06/10/2004

Author's Note: More old work, partially redone.

Posted on 06/18/2008
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