You are not your Body,
but your Body is your Temple;
and your Temple is the only Altar
at which I'm compelled to worship.

The Goddess I know is present
The Goddess I know and love
The Goddess known to you as "I"
dwells within that earthly Temple
thus is thy Temple my Altar

I want to darken the room;
to turn off the lights
draw the curtains
and then to light candles
and disrobe our Temples
and lay upon a bed of satin
and to begin to carefully trace
the subtle curves, circles, arcs and lines of your Temple
with the lips, tongue, teeth and fingertips of mine
and to forget the sense of Time
we both know so well by now;

I want the Music of the harmonies of our Temples
to drown out the music of the turntable

I want the rhythm of our Love
to pulse so deep into the Night
that it comes back out the other side

I want the melodies we accidentally sing
to make the Moon and Stars blush with envy

I want to worship your Temple
in all the ways that we'd see fit;

I want us to moan in blissful, belligerent unison,
our eyes meeting with such electricity
that the spark creates ephemeral dim light
just before the magnetism pulls us together
and we kiss a kiss to end all kisses
just before we kiss a kiss to begin it all again.

I want this holy communion
under naked moonlight of Love
and I want to hold your Temple
until all Temples cease to be.

Time has no meaning
when we're apart.
Time has yet less meaning
when we're together.

I love you and your magnificent Temple,
my one and only Earthly Goddess,
and I can wish for nothing more
than to be able
to make you unable
to doubt it,
once more.

torn, shred,
and what was left, partitioned,
awaiting ripping.

ripe in sunlight,
dense from weightless life,
it sits, waiting.

there's nothing
to fulfill anymore, expectations
wait for disbursement.

distressed,
dressed to the nines, tens, elevens,
until the twelfth hour;

waiting, consistently
for another slip of their finger
to slice through skin,

porcelain, crimson,
beauty, pain, life, love, lingering;
waiting takes too long.