I’m super excited to be writing for The Urban Howl, and to join with a tribe of writers I truly admire. It’s a place for poets, rebels, seekers and wordy shape-shifters. My partner was a little bit worried that my first offering was about a sensual experience with my lady love. But I said…authenticity is always apropos, darling!
“Erotic longing is really a longing to merge with something greater than oneself. For every kind of love is a force that holds the promise of taking us beyond the limitations of our individual lives.” ~ Julianne Davidow
A Lemurian trade wind lingers sweetly in the room where I lie naked to my dreams.
I am stretched both in heart and soul space, surrendered, worshiping at the altar of my lover’s womb.
This place, this cauldron of sacred creativity, has lured me to its edges, and I lay my head upon her belly, feeling her life force, listening to her breath, my mouth a reverent chalice of unhurried kisses.
In this deepest of mysteries, I am lost to the ancient journey of Woman, through the centuries and wisdom-laden cycles that represent She:
Mystic…the birther of all that has ever been. All this, now laid open before my eyes and lips. This is her irreverent seduction of me.
There is deep magic here, enfolded with secrets, like the floor of a forbidden forest, mossy and rich with dew, where one can lie down in dream-time to remember Her stories and songs.
I linger. I taste. I vision-quest. I am a captive of the incantations of her spirit. I long to stay. Here, I honor the Divine Feminine. Usually it is with words and ceremonies. Today it is with my body.
Here, the pulse of intuition emanates like the light of a thousand stars, and here I seek eternity. No beginning. No end. This is Woman’s highest spell space. From where she casts intention; from where she weaves the tapestry of life.
Let me pause here, Woman, let me rest a sigh upon your skin, let me burn. Let the ashes of my longings be the sacrifice you demand. Let me drown in your ocean. This is where the Goddess stirs and stirs, salty waters, salty tears. Venus rises when I whisper her name.
Sacred Sanctuary, container for life, blissful potential, this is my home.
You are the temple, and also the poem. I will leave you with the imprint of my voice, fill your cup with pleasure, and write my name in your book of love. I sink deeper into your river, Shakti awoken, chaos and power, the flower of life.
Through time long forgotten, through sunset and sunrise, through Luna’s ebb and flow, you crash, a dark wave onto my willing shore, your hips and moans the undulating tide.
Here time stands still, for moments etched into my cell memory, to be called up with the howling of wolves. In another lifetime, I will search again for the essence of you.
Woman, I worship at the altar of your womb. © Monika Carless @ The Urban Howl