Tantra

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I write with you still on the tip of my fingers …

Table scraps of memories and all the places you bring me by the slight twitch and dip of

your muscles

I know nothing like your brand of love and thrust

Not lust,

But divinity

And the sacred energy produced by the rain,

of crashing elements.

Foggy and sticky,

You are in a lane

of your own

Super Saiyan patterns of flattery

The bedroom name “Goddess” falls from

Your lips with ease

And proof of how you’ve missed the alchemy of my chocolate

Strapped down by stardust

Chiseled as if cut from Greek god-cloth

Pre-cloth

Divinity inferred

And fortified at the seams,

Sealed in Onyx

Black diamond of perfection

You wield weaponry

That threatens me, to escape the barriers

Keeping me on the peaceful side of the barricade

Striding down streets with the fire of protest and implosion

Washing away anything I’d known about how the night might end.

Days begin,

Suspended on your lead

Cheering on the twerk of my hips

And calling out Godd when you see her!

…. Amani O+

Read Full Poem at amanipoet.com

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