Angel sweat song
Writing words of milk and honey on your skin,
my fingers feather light and anvil strong,
raising nipples and goose flesh mountains,
indelible words of love and want,
all over you and into your skin:
mine to touch and to behold
(yours to offer or withdraw.)
Lower and lower the feather pen goes.
Milk and honeyed words and truth,
seeking for, reaching for, now homing in
to your volcano centre:
my centre of beauty and trust.
Hairs and honey and milk now mingle:
a soft touch of glory and death and come.
Your body now coated in angel sweat song,
trembling and riding the night and the storm:
slowly rotating,
Maelstrom rotating and sinking
into this centre of pink and pulsing,
waiting now, screaming now, begging for me
to come down.
Come down and devour you,
Come down and now drown you,
impale you
and burn you and brand you with lust.
Feather claws will drip
these sizzling sprays of milk and honey;
feather fangs will tear your soul apart.
Your flesh my altar canvas,
your moans and fever screams
my soaring compass;
your heart between my teeth,
swollen and bleeding,
beating the drums of lust,
hounding you, now riding you.
Till God-borne
(Jesus born, Mary torn)
feather dust dancing,
all flesh is one:
the honey storm and milk volcano
spent (for now.)
Our flesh now quiet and one.