The Adoration of Luna

Last night,
I opened the memoirs of Eros.
As I read through it,
Her name appeared on every page
In whispers, in screams,
In cries of exaltation.
My hands trembled
But I held it steady.

Words, like crazed animals, leapt off the page
And sniffed me, licked me, bit me.
Droplets of blood,
Mingling with perspiration,
Rolled down my face and arms.

I read the sacred rituals:

Luna on her hands and knees,
Luna the equestrian Goddess,
Luna the lascivious whore
Luna the submissive slave
And Luna the merciless master.

All these manifestations of her
Had me fumbling for the next page:
I was like a child peeking through a keyhole.
She was standing over her subject,
Leg over his shoulder, tufts of hair in one fist,
Riding crop in the other.

She pressed his face into her holy of holies,
And gave him another welt on his haunch.
When he brought her to the edge,
Each hit was fiercer than the last,
Her eyes were closed, head back
Each tug, plunged his face deeper into her sanctum

He was her appaloosa,
She rode him to the brink of death
And her pleasure was intensified by
The Strength of his devotion.
Would he die for her?
Could he please her If he did?

ambient-1 © 2010