Kundalini

The serpent moves within me like a boiling liquid
Rushing up my spine with a peculiar mix
Of searing pain and warm, rolling pleasure.

Although I stand motionless, I am in motion
A joyful turmoil that pushes at the boundary of my skin
The blood in my veins dancing madly in reply.

Come, touch the fingers of my outstretched hand
And you will feel the serpent's exquisite bite
A flash of electricity, to set your own blood dancing.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As my teeth break the thin, taut skin
of the grapes held so gently in your hand,
my eyes find yours.

And you watch, as the juice spills over
the corner of my mouth,
my tongue darting out to catch it, then pausing
to explore the taste of palm, fingers, wrist.

I want to break the skin there as well,
and drink from you deeply
while the cool, wet fruit slides down my throat.

The sweetest meal I might ever have.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Lenaia

In the swirling madness of the dance, your presence is visceral.
I close my eyes but do not see some vision of your face
No, you are in my sweat, and my breath carries your scent
as I shout your name, and fall heavily to the ground.

Here, you are a warm, thick skin around mine
The fur and musk of an animal, with a lover’s tender touch.
You cradle me as the fury pours out, and I cry,
knowing this is not the end of it.

Again, the wine slips down my throat – you are inside me.
My legs want to collapse, but you push me forward
All the maddened people are sweeping past me, cups in hand.
I must follow, for your pleasure, I must join them.

All night, I give you all I have to give
My surrender palpable, and tasting of blood.
For all the pain that rends me like a sacrifice,
I love you – my destroyer, you softly brutal god.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Queen

Persephone is a ghoul these days,
Pallid skin reflects the torches in the halls
Fingertips and lips still stained a purplish
red, like fresh bruises,
And dripping.

Her eyes two globes, and clouded
White like the flowers once were
that lay strewn, rotting, on the floor
Her black crown glimmers faintly
As she passes by.

I reach to her with immaterial hands
but still, she feels chilly to the touch
She moves like liquid further down to darkness
And I follow.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Hermaion

I walk this road, snow crunching beneath my boots,
Cold air hardening my flesh, sinking into my bones.
How long have I been here, beneath a deep blue sky
The stars just arriving, always at the edge of night.

The traveler’s god is around me; he is beside me.
He is within me. He is the stone next to the path,
He is the feral creature leaping into the bushes.
He is laughing, and he is silent. He is watching.

Perhaps I walk just to be moving, to break up the stillness,
To change what I see around me, or what I am.
Perhaps I walk just for those fleeting glimpses
Of something strange and perilous at the corners of my eyes.

When the full cloak of night is draped over me,
Will I miss the shadows, and the hints of light,
Will I long to stop and build a fire to warm my hands,
Or will I finally be at home
In the black, cold wilderness beneath the earth.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Lampteria

The lamps were all lit for the night
And bowls of dark wine laid down
I watched flames flicker in burgundy pools
As a heavy musk seeped into the air around us.

I thought I knew what was to come
But I, the mantis, had no real clairvoyance after all.
I thought I was full with freedom
But I, the maenad, still covered my bare skin.

Silently you watched, like a temple statue
As I twisted, twirled, and spun about
Until I was breathless, and intoxicated
With the mad movement of my own body.

Only then, as I lay spent and trembling
Did you finally rise
With something sharp and terrible for me
And a touch, unbearably gentle.

Words are swallowed by the darkness
In the aftermath of my surrender
The visions I am left with only these:
Your eyes, still watching from the shadows of the altar
And your lips, wet with something dark and red.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Eleuthereus

By some bitter alchemy, I am changed.
Released from bonds so subtle,
I hadn't felt them
Then cast into a darkness
Too cold to unfurl new wings.

My solace is ripped from me.
Contentment a cruel joke -
Or perhaps a distant memory.
They are left behind in the crucible
That shaped me.

Goodbye to all of that.
With wings still held tight by frost
I turn to face the inexorable
Severity of freedom.