Fellatio

She falls to her knees,
patterning intricate mandela patterns on white flesh,
as she bows to Cernunnos.

Pale marbled flesh and blue veined rigidity
seduce her rebellious spirit
as glistening trails of ownership are traced across
swollen pink tips.

Hands tangle in crimson silk
urging worship of godhead,
seducing with the pungent, sweet aroma
of hidden mysteries and burgeoning demand.

Tears, pure aching worlds of acceptance,
spring forth like Brigit’s kelles
as fertile deltas, damp and fecund,
drip her acquiescence.

Throbbing need spawns insistence,
a slippery, intricate dance of aloofness
that fires a soul and kills a spirit

as she accepts yet again

her role.

Slender fingers dance an intricate waltz
across furred tracts of territory,
tickling regions heretofore unexplored,
leaving in their wake, upheaval and chaos

as

elated, she pulls into her quintessence the
reality of godhood,
in creamy ribbons of need and helpless lust.

And,
in so doing,
regains her soul.