A Poem About Spiritual Intercourse

I just finished reading two of Maya Angelou’s autobiographies for a class project. Who she was as a woman and as an artist can hardly be put into words. She was deeply sensitive, she had a temper, she was impulsive, she wielded language the way samurais wield swords, she loved deeply and with fierce loyalty and, mostly, she survived anything life threw at her with the grace of one raised as royalty.  Indeed, she was royalty in spirit, and I just hope I can do her justice in my class assignment.

In the meantime, I’ve finally found time to post some more of my own stuff. I wrote the following poem thinking about how intense it feels during a deep meditation. It’s the most amazing feeling there is, with physical intercourse being the only thing remotely similar. Enjoy!

 

Better Than Wine

 

Sparkling calmly

From

The fiery coolness

Of his privacy,

 

Sudden seed-birthed supply

Comes,

Every time.  On time.

Thirsty tears

Animate

Our private tryst,

 

Exclusively communal.

 

Quiet Intercourse.

 

Immaculate delirium

Drills into my blood,

Penetrates my church.

 

 

Resurrection of breasts,

Full, devoted

To Quenching the hunger

Of Man’s

Thirsty Desert Child.

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