The Resurrection

She caresses her white hand against the wall,
fragile purity and function in symmetry
to draw a translucent foot from it's red patent prison
as exquisitely curved as their bearer
they ally to the ground, drawing the energy of Gaia
through her red veins, red heart, and into me, through those lips
those vivacious red, red lips,
and she draws her tongue like a sword from a sheath
and plunges it into my mouth
slaying my resistance to

translucent, transcendent hands caressing my back, my hips
and down, down my exposed thighs
igniting a spark
beneath my navel, where I was torn from safe haven
and sparkling down, down
like meteors on an August night
or the skim of fingers flirting with skin
never uniting until

she grabs with full force
and lays me atop the table
nestles her hands in my side,
angles her head, and send a spark down my abdomen
like a silk woven web or
her garnet glossed hair across
those translucent, transparent shoulder blades
arching heaven ward even as she tilts her head
bears her teeth, and comes in for

the kill, ivory collides against vulnerable humanity
and the fire she sparked within me burns my soul upward
a vivid scarlet plasma coursing through its vessel
not to be contained by the confines of mortality
quintessence manifests swelling, aching,
breathing, beating, being,
pulsing, boiling, bursting

onto translucent, transcendent hands,
and vivacious red, red lips.