Knockin’ on the Temple Door

God Bless You. Goddess Bless Me.

When I gaze upon You, yes I revere you, I adore You. I look upon your visage as that of a mere mortal trying to glimpse a deity without being blinded or condemned.

When I bow at Your feet and kiss them, it is with a sacred solemnity. When I come close to the Temple doors to breathe in your Aura, to feel the tickle of your hairs on my lips, the damp dewy pleasure as I drink the nectar of the gods, it is as Sunday communion for the parishioner. You are my Pastora. My Confessor. My Spiritual Awakening. My Hope. My Gratitude.

But, when I look through Your green orbs into the depths of that endless Sea, it is all of You I want: The middle aged woman, the frightened child on her own for the first time, the nail-biting girl so far from where and whom she dreamed in her Walt Disney-naivete on where she’d be,¬† who on occasion needs an Ambien or to be gently rocked to sleep, deep pulsing nurturing rhythmic hungers sated, thirsts slaked. Caress your soft, mortal shoulders, kiss those gentle rose-water lips, stroke tus mejillas as We are One. Hold you, be with You. Walk Together. Along the shores of our Life. Juntos

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I often told You and You still don’t believe me when I rub up against your swollen lips, thick with excitement as You hold my head in a loving and teasing thumb-index finger stroke that drives me wild, when You awaken your parts with mine and gently invite me in, it’s Love. Not sex. I don’t have this stamina based on drugs. Or youth. Or even the fleeting of romantic and corporeal desire.

Love is Love. Profundo. Abiding. In You and Without You, Love.

Pax et Lux. Siempre.

photo© courtesy of Cheryl Perez Chatzis

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