buds of light

An image
can grow like a flower of light
but its light
is always coming from a root.
The Goddess shows you
lots of flowers
but don’t be satisfied with them.
You want Her dark root.
You want Her darkness
where you can push through
into Her longing.
You have to demand
that you both cum together
or not at all.

she transforms in her image

Flesh pours through Her fingers
those same fingers that pray
like flying birds through Her heart.
I am a poem being read aloud
through Her throat.
I love the feel of Her tongue
the slide and glide
of these two equations
being swallowed whole.

she is a flower for your sky

Take Her body
and make it your heart.

Hearts need hands and feet
lips and speech.
The inner blossoms of being
want always to take form.

Until a heart is devoted
to something as real as devotion
it is just a vessel for love
not the body and substance.

At least feel the flesh of Her love.
Then you shall know how to be human.

She has come to you in tears
with imploring hands
with naked desires
and you have shunned
every authentic sensation.
Nothing trustworthy can occur
until you make your heart Her own.

love in a near place

I wake up excited
by lips and hands.
She is over me
under me
in me like a fervent prayer.

I arch myself inwards
where the waves play.
Where tide and the moon tug
each others bodies.

I am the questing
the finding
the flirtatious near miss.
I am the fluid summit
that falls back on itself.

On mornings like this
there is no God
no religion
no theory of anything.

There is just feeling
the grasp of sensation
lifting skirts up

breathing in.

remembrance

It is bright
in the darkness of Her.
I curl Her up
within my body
in-between my ribs
where the sky flows.
Her hair
falls across my memory.
I clutch Her form
it is moss
starlight
ruby kisses.
She paints water
until it speaks.
I breathe for Her
keeping Her alive
in my arms
until She becomes

my eyes.

she unthreads to be seen

The Goddess must pull apart;
She unthreads to be seen.

She rebuilds the unfulfilled
from spaces found
inside the moist unfoldings
of desire.

You are not a locality
you are Her apparel
Her sexual need to flower.
Eventually your form
appears as Her passion.

a room for her

An apartment:
the cellar is for sex
(dark bound sex)
the dinning room
is an encounter
between flesh and hunger.
We meet in the kitchen
as strangers
commit adultery
or any other sin
that can be prepared
for the feast of life.
The bedroom
is for prayer
for the anointing
of fingertips
with erotic desires.
The attic
is Hers alone
I hear her crying sometimes,

She begs me to join Her there.

The print "Sun Goddess" may be purchased from-

www.metaphotography.com/space_02b.jpg

where love waves

We subdue silence
resting in the hollow of the heart.

The Goddess is submissive.
All Her psychic parts
are under my embrace.
She turns over
to be the movement
of subtle passions.

There are sensations
that have no counterpart
in the world of bodies
yet they correspond
to every
sensation of love.

We explore
what can only be felt
as a fold of perspective
where love waves.

Deity

She is that dangerous part of vision.
A light only blindness
can look upon.
If I close my windows and doors
She becomes the pounding silence
of a caged passion.
If I open
just for a moment
She plucks my soul out
to be Her breath.

The Goddess is a She
for everyone knows
that only She can kill men
until they live only for love.
Her divinity is the rapid pulse
of immaculate lust.
Her body made to be crushed
until flame dances up
as Her desire.

We are a basic instinct
that She reveals as Her holiness
until everything
even our eyes
are consumed by Her love.

our reaching love

My body has no language
without Your voice inside it
where essence
swims like a mermaid
in blood.

Sometimes you are the neck
of a ravening seagull
while I am the baby turtle
racing into Your throat.
Then we change positions
I am the mouth of a wave
You a drowning bird.

There is turmoil
only on the surface
of this ocean.
Beneath the dance
there is Your voice
feeding essence
giving words
to love.

she shapes

I am buckled with Her love.
My frame a grinding mill
a smelt for binding passions.
Sparks hammer tissue
into runnels of ecstasy.
A furnace kindled
by the open door
of its mouth
where flights of wings
emerge
from Her fire.

her becoming

She stuns me
I am erased by her
fleeting bullets.

Orgasms bloom
the flesh dies
sleeps
awakes.

Her hands are hard
they pound
new arousals.

I feed Her chunks
of passion
newly butchered meat.

We are insatiable
the way
flowers are insatiable
for light

only Her light
is a darkly bruised radiance
out of which
my life emerges

one death at a time.

your passion

I shall not sleep tonight

until I have bathed You.

Until I have brushed Your hair

and gentled all

Your soft openings.

Then I shall bind my blood to You.

Offer milky prayers

to Your lips.

Gather You into me.

I shall not sleep

until Your swoon is my swoon

until the one heart moans.

an open relationship

I plant Her
on dark roots-
stars must darkly gestate
if they are to blaze.

I push myself
out of my stem-
blooms must have
that narrow becoming
before they open.

I take Her captive
abuse Her
with a savage passion.
The earth must be broken
towards fertility.

All this I do to myself
knowing nothing of it
as She ravishes me
with a relationship
of absence.

feeling her

I wait inside a seed of longing
until Her hands become warm
She is a buttercup of the sun now
blooming within my skin.

In that moment
the Goddess steps into my house
to be touched and cared for.

We live together like this
coming to rest in what
can only be felt and tasted.

Without this substance
of lust
there could be no spirit
only a barren idea.

A book of kisses is not Her reality.

I breathe your light

I am channeled out of Your substance
a body dwelt within
cavities and cliffs of love.
Your heart is a diamond in my darkness.

I feel You
I sense the catch of a breath
an inquiring suppleness
of interior graspings.
You do not hide
Your arousals.

We are comfortable here
with roots
and leaves entwined
breathing within
small closets of desires.

You spread Your limbs
Your body a cave for my ocean.
We are closer
than lip to lip
we are the kiss.

Ribbons

Sometimes my living-space
is too small.
A cramped lodging
and a longing
too coiled into its shadows
to hold much light.

Sometimes I am a ball of string
bundled into a knot of self.
Knots that once
bound me to a fabrication
but now hold nothing together
even more tightly.

At times like this
the Goddess mercifully
cuts me into ribbons of love.

She throws me out
until the tracery of soul
is everywhere
streaming through Her sky
as open as laughter.

Astarte

She is explicit.
She undresses flesh
to reveal wantonness.

She tantalizes form
into blind devotion.

She opens you up
and where you fold
reveals your unripe fruit.

Her joy is to moisten
every audacious lip
all abandoned cravings
until you paint her face
with worship.


















Astarte (oil on canvas) Lori Koefoed.
www.sarahbaingallery.com

questions to the goddess

Ask the Goddess.

Ask Her with your flesh

until your cask of spirit

becomes Her voice.

You have a relationship with her,

a union

that is like a favourite colour

you keep changing your mind about.

Ask Her to change your heart

to make it Her mirror.

Keep asking the same dumb question

until She makes love to you

so completely

you become Her only question.

Possession

I am possessed
like an empty room is possessed
by its windows and doors.

I wake up
listening to Her breath
I no longer call it mine.

She has made room
for the sky in my small apartment.
My stuff
will not fit anymore
there is more living space now.

I hold onto Her
with Her own hands
mine have become
gloves.

We have a blood relationship
through the permeable membranes
of passion.

We are like creatures
huddled together in the night.
If they move too far away
their flesh goes blind.

a heartbreaking joy

The Goddess woos you
with a heartbreaking joy.

There is always pain
as your masks fracture one by one
but that too is Her tenderness.

The brittle boned scaffolding
of mind topples over.
Your dismay is in Her care
as She pulls you aside
to watch it collapse
in the slow motion replay
of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

She wounds you with the only remedy
that can heal the dead.
Her heartbreaking compassion
is to let that charade of yourself
decline and dwindle

with no hope of recovery
from the pain of Her love.

a bloom in the open mouth of bliss

The Goddess is dancing again.
Her wild tarantella surges
through cell and sinew.

Shakti rising, they call it
but it is more a ravaging.
A molestation so loving
that flesh itself must speak
with the wild tongues of forest fires.

I am an image of what love becomes
when it falls for itself.
Immodestly I demand
more transfusions of intimacy
more onslaughts of tenderness.

I want more.
I want to be Her own delight
as She shudders and wails
in this tussled bed of surrender.
To feel Her pleasure in me
as She pushes upwards through
a striving stem
to bloom
in the open mouth of Her bliss.

Nectar

I am scooped out of the dark
like nectar.

I am out of the broken nest
of past and future.

Lovers make do
with each other.

Turning away from their faults
but I have grown
to be Your memory.

Nothing is between us
but the sky of this moment.

the goddess of souls

She is a woman
for every soul is Her womb.

What you are
what you will become
and what you cannot sustain
or cling to
is birthed through Her.

Nothing is wasted:
darkness and light
faith and doubt
right and wrong
all are one fire.

Her desire
is to feel you as Herself.
To be the taste of Her own Soul.

She shows you
how you were born
from the starry glance
of Her passion.

Her Consuming Kiss

You are like a soldier
killed on a battlefield.

For a moment
you keep walking and talking
but you are outside of yourself
watching your ghost-

then your identity falls
naked and wriggling
through your mind
until there is no one
to watch it disappear.

You awake inside Her longing.

This is the first kiss to Her lover.
It is briefly flirtatious
but it lasts forever.

Then there is Her kiss of surrender
when She pulls you screaming
through Her own Soul
until your heart
becomes Her flesh.

You are consumed
by a perfect orgasm.
That kiss
is now your only identity.

she breaks you down

It takes time to breakdown.
There are lots of nailed walls
the mildew of hypocrisy.
The old recordings
of a scratched life
that has festered
into fervid hymns.

You want to appease and lie.
You want to steal what you cannot
barter for.
You hide yourself
palsied by deceit.

Then She comes.
You fall apart
but it takes time.
An instant of karma
takes years to remember.
She touches you
but you still fight
to be the ghost you have created.

Now you must slough your mind daily
like dead skin.
You are enlightened
but that is to say
you are just green and seeping
the way a dead branch
covered with thorns
can still weep the bitterness of green.

She is patient.
The Goddess makes love to you
like an older woman does
with a callow youth.
There is much to learn
and you have no skill.
You only have sob stories.
A lust
that is burning you down
like a derelict house.










Image: Passion Goddess by Griselda Tello (c)

Her Breathing Love

Her vision
comes to live on your breath.
Breathing-in She holds you
dazed and bound to her desire.
Breathing out
She paints images on your blood
where your heart drowns
in its own depth.
The Goddess is jealous
for you are her only love
She lives only for you-
to be you.
One day you surrender
you become human
the tears on your cheek
are now Hers.
You understand
how you have deserted Her
in so many cruel ways
but you breathe Her in now
holding her close
until Her scent
becomes your mind.

here, where Your Light speaks

I shall call on You today.
You who can make dust talk
and dirt sing.

I shall call from the symbiotic
from the simmering feast of this body.
I shall turn every iota
into Your own prayer.

In the dim dialect
of tissue-
in the fevered hive
I shall find a way through.

Even mud and mire
loves You
Your flowers bloom-
and earth speaks.

Scripture

Sensation becomes conversation
a dialogue
between the sky and earth
where words are birds
of fire and form.

Though we may sleep
souls stay up all night.
The Goddess writes poetry
it is Her true scripture
She writes it in the blood
where silence thunders.

When She utters,
the voices
of poets, birds and flames
fall down dead.

She Alone

I did not know what soul was
until I gave up
the me and mine game.

Daylight spills
in this pouring of You
darkness ruminates
its being is You.
What passes through
to be other
is You.

You breathe on the flame
and the flame breathes back
as mind
but there is no one here
who can claim to be
even that flame.

What we name, soul
You call:
Me and Mine.

imago

We are not two minds
the mask I keep
is Yours also.

If You came any closer
I would fall
through myself
like a burning ember.

Fingertips
and sensation
are already inside You.

An arms length
can be as long as a life
or as close
as the next breath.

Until I found myself
in Your womb
completely attached
to Your Life
I thought I had a life

but I was
using Your blood
to paint tears in the dark.

weft

There are times when I go away
and do not return to myself
until She finds me.
Then all my doors open wide.
Bones become channels;
musical arrangements
for Her breath.
Her limbs are this sense
of my movement.
I am skin and flavor,
a seed pod between Her teeth
that She breaks open.
Often however
I drift away
into Her many dresses.
A loose thread
in the fabric of Her love.