Think of This as an Order

Her thighs lie half-splayed,
as if she opened them to anyone
who might want to enter.
That might have been me, earlier
when I thought that love

was equivalent to sex.
It’s not. End of that story.

She could open them when
I strike my head upon the ground,
as if punishment
brought enlightenment

or even light
into our world. I could still guide
us toward happiness,
to a lack of shadows,
toward a stage very evenly lit.

But she, well, you. Let's not kid ourselves.
You will need to commit
to that vision.

And it requires you to kneel.