I don’t think the Lord would mind
My nakedness, my bump-and-grind.
The pleasures of my body are
As faith and hope and charity combined.
Breathe deep the scent of musk and sweat.
My body isn’t yours, and yetI’ll give you what a god can give—
A view of heaven you won’t soon forget.           
The will of our father has withered in the son.           
The songs of our mothers the daughters know none.           
The skin o’er my bones has a will all its own.           
My hymn to them all is this dance I do alone.
The serpent on my back is doing somersaults and pirouettes,
And no, it isn’t after you –it only wants what nature gets:
A mate, a dance, a sleep, and not a knowledge of all else that crawls,
That breathes, that frets, that prays, forgets;
that, given Eden, hungers, falls.
In another sense I see the serpent rising up for me,
The coming of the unity of Truth and femininity,
The trappings of my shame are wrapped around your neck or on the floor,
And if you think you’ve seen it all, there’s more, my brother, so much more…