Phallic Worship

Tower of strength,
pillar of heat,
this rod and this staff,
they comfort me.
I am annointed
by your seed-force.
You spread
my furrows and crevices,
row upon row,
tilling bountiful harvest.
Fixed and firm,
you stand planted,
and my dance
to your drumbeat
slithers temptation
through your thighs,
entices and seduces,
taunts and spits venom,
and you remain,
my God.
I am bowed,
dirtied kneed
before you
and mouth pressed
to weary warrior tread.
My appetite is
immeasurable and immense.
I worship here,
each breath a prayer.
My surrender to your will,
your powerful push past
every known edge,
your one-clear-eyed
focused direction,
allows my yearning
and adoration
to flow honey thick.