Priapian Hymn #57

Cupped, cradled, ADORED—everything in one stride.
There, where you crease your form, a presence
Coiled, cuffed, MOORED—something of space, a pride
Of lions, three in hand–the rope, eternity, ESSENCE.

How once I BURNED to find, to feel, to hold,
To KNOW carnality—rampant, quaking lust—
But what where who ? No boldness
Came to free, to see the fire was JUST.

Now throbbing in my THROAT I thrust in need
My tongue, my teasing teeth seek musky cream.
PRIAPUS MAGNUS! Bloat my mouth with satyr’s seed,
Foam my beard, a faun with me to dream.

So now the What the Who the WHY have fled,
Make MY tongue the temple for your head.