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, a rope, eternity, essence.
How once I BURNED to find, to feel to hold,
To know carnality—rampant, quaking lust—
But what where who TURNED the WHY, no boldness
Came to set me free, to make me see my fire was just.
Now throbbing in my THROAT I thrust in need
My tongue around the glans seeks musky cream
Priapus intactus! BLOAT my mouth with satyr’s seed,
Dripping on my beard, a faun am I to dream.
So now the What the Who the WHY have fled,
Make MY tongue the temple for your head.