Rise

By lips and teeth, by serpent-wired coils,
A frame of roses drowns the hanging spike.
Jungles open under that trumpet tongue,
Winged object, world serpent, riding the wave.

By lips and teeth, by serpent-wired coils,
the skin I secretly invoke
is tender flesh upon the rocky shaft,
the surface of your wild self.
That arrow guides you into springing earth,
to hips that drive and rock and press
in raw and rhythmic greeting.

A frame of roses drowns the hanging spike
and you can see your own deep slide
all slick with salty foam, and striking deep,
this lively root drives thick and through
to press the petals open for the shaft
of bright invasion, drumming up
a voice quick-winged with lilies.

Jungles open under that trumpet tongue.
You pierce the shadows with your hardest heat
and grind me down to liquid so I spill
like storms into your rigid arms.
Like bud and leaf and flower in the mist
of birdsong, on a dappled path
we meet and strike in shifting light.

Winged object, world serpent, riding the wave
of godhead, as you focus down
on moan and mantra of the simplest act,
the flesh and where and how it enters,
the chain of fire blossoms in your spine,
a river heated up to gold,
and opens at the mouth so you can roar
your root, your single holy name
into the center of my earth.