Dakini

Leaving her usual skin at the gates of the graveyard
in her beads and bones she sets up ragged ritual
sorting the skulls into cups for the fiercest feast
she makes a mandala of ashes and long bones
forthright, she enthrones herself on the sacred statues

She is old and ugly, she is filthy, she seems to be drunk
Her laugh may grate on your ear, but approach, have courage
Envy the wild disorder in which she moves
she spits and the world transforms around you
you feel yourself shift in the palm of her shocking hand
and under her delicate, dirty foot thrust forward
you become yourself, the chariot carved to fit her

in the midst of charnel, the sport of sweetest flesh
consumed by the fire of that hunger and alive within it
awake to every bliss your skin discovers here
and feasting carefully with all the senses
do not look away from these lush acts you now indulge

When she shows you bliss within the burial of names
everything dissolves and life becomes a shadow
prismed over by the vision of your flesh

And then, they counsel in the texts,
without losing sight of the sweetness and rage remember
that the body is only a shell you have agreed upon
despite the heat and climax that you seem to feel
that matter may be traded with the ecstasy
piece by piece for diamond skin and eyes of fire
and even in this fierce and sensual bliss you sleep
you dream this and it never was and balanced
on the line between the skin and its demise
you find yourself a suddenly new thing.

you open her to the world of adamantine words
rich with juice, her throne is corpses like your own
even in your passion for the supple form revealed
she proves that flesh is overlaid like death
around the ecstasy