Sex, Women, Ostara, and the River

Loud seagulls
Descend upon the city
Like awkward tourists

I brush Maroon Velvet hair
From her sweet eyes

And welcome sin, because I told the witch a lie

How much art must I create,
How much beauty must I gather
In a wicker basket
How many mewing kittens
How many chocolate eclairs to
Sanctify this existance

There is sun flitting through layers of canopy
Dead vines in large arcs, dirt packed
Tight with old glass, with orange needles and wild flowers.

It is the first day of Spring and the Mississippi river creeps on by
To the drumming of a wild mare’s trot
Serenaded by some angelic choir,
somewhere
dripping in gold and mercy

Somehow here is sadness
& the heavy soot of shame
This feels contagious
Here is some goodness
So much energy to be happy

The river, releases ships to navigate her curves
On Path
Somewhere there is ending
Somewhere she lets them fall into her great mouth and
Her fat tongue carries them gently to a quiet tombstone
With Lillies and dasies tossed here and there
For she does not ask
SHE TAKES

Holy selfishness
Sacred Masculinity

Yea, I would let her hold my wrists down and make me hers
I’d let her run rivers through my body
I’d ask for more
I’d kiss her till my mouth was bloody
I’d ask for more
I’d let her make me come
I’d ask for more