I once dreamt I was a goddess,
Who collects antiques.
Oysters, pearls and shells,
Who has a tattooed cleavage,
Velvet beret the colour purple,
Lips painted taffeta,
Loud scent wrecking from neck to wrist,
Feet sitting on red hills,
In a night club,
Moving hips to dance-hall reggae,
Tongue down a god’s throat,
Beneath the disco ball.
The kind of goddess who did not
Swallow alter bread and wine,
Who wore mini-skirts
And sat with legs open,
Blew cigar smoke at the street corners
Of Sodom and Gomorrah,
Fucked whoever she wanted to fuck,
And publicly demoted Father as King,
By painting a picture of God,
Coloured in pink and purple,
And named the painting;
“My Mother who art in my cosmos“
I woke up at the Calvary,
One. I asked for forgiveness,
For those thoughts were sins.
Two. I prayed for Father’s hands to freeze me
Into a yoga pose,
Always keep me just above the soil,
Away from the surface of what
Separates this and the imagined.
Nothing I did again ever came as raw
As the goddess wanted it.
Not pleasure not desire not sin not the fluids I released during sex not lust not like not love but the goddess wanted to conquer all she said living wild was the route to love and that mobility reflected the truest fullest kind of love.
She wanted all or nothing.
Be a whore,
She ceased to flourish,
She was but the size of a rose petal,
Caged in a hallucination kit where
She drove a yellow beetle imported from Europe,
And built a Wendy house at the heart of a bush,
Lived with eleven vegan home schooled children,
And had an organic garden.
Before she died, she asked;
What is the one thing you truly want?
The thing I truly want is to be loved.
She sheered to avoid my eyes,
Touched me like she was about to make love to me
The thing you ought to do first
Is exhale breaths of love in its truest shape.
Purity impurity loss hurt deceit honesty wittiness cuddles lust desire sex passion intimacy romanticism empathy jealousy lies forgiveness
Love is multifaceted,
Since it exists in mortals,
And that’s okay.
So, first, love someone,
Even in your sleep.
With no grammatical errors like ‘but’,
Punctuated by echoes of the past,
But love directly from the heart.
Make each butterfly in his stomach mimic,
The very same ballet steps,
God choreographed for ocean waves.
And your kiss must arouse his feet
So that he feels like he is doing a moon-walk,
While bungee jumping at the same time.
Kiss his insides until he mourns from the epiphany;
That he has finally met the person
Whose tongue will lick his tongue
And unleash three words kept
At the tip of his tongue.
Sew your lives together in threads
Of love sonnets piled upon each other.
Take him to a life time he never knew existed,
Where you will mould his days into interludes
Of Theatrical Operas
Adapted from ancient love notes,
Written by unknown authors.
Get drunk with love.
Give yourself not to him
But to this thing that binds you two,
Be true to it,
And never cheat it.
So that his entire life thereafter
Begins to reflect a vision of fading rainbow colours,
When they slowly dismember,
giving way to sunshine,
As horizons open their legs,
To give birth to the sun’s most potent smile.