In a month you'll
be in seminary but
first, you ask
a sweatier sacrament.
We play across the bed,
your skin unfolding
to my fingers, my lips
nipping at your holy
softness. Your labial leaves
moisten my beard,
I sniff oranges and cloves,
my tongue laves the folds
of your parochial pussy,
I suck sweet wine
from that frothy fountain,
your lips circle
my priapic prayer.
With saint-like devotion we
worship the juices
of our flesh. It is a
heaving and groaning adoration,
flesh made holy,
bodies seeking spirit,
lips making all things
mysterious, ecstatic, one.

© 2001 William Borden

http://www.intraart.com/williamborden
http://emily.net/~schiller/borden.html
http://vax1.bemidji.msus.edu/~skinner/lakesong/open.html