Piece Ritual
Skin plunges, drum-tight,
over his firm pecs,
stretches over iron arms.
My tongue follows deep creases
across his chest,
traces washboard ripples,
tickles pomegranate nipples
down to his navel,
where I greedily sup.
I massage his calves,
stroke steel thighs,
caress his crotch
- the slightest of touch -
that it may rise
- satin viper, velvet eggs -
I swallow white venom
quench my thirst;
ritually purify
his scorpion’s sting
in my porcelain cup.
Let him bury
his serpentine fangs
into the soft, white
flesh of my breasts,
slither into my silk cocoon
until he fills me up
and we drop, dripping sweat,
consumed and replenished
under the river moon.
1998 SilkCocoon
