I shall leave the bed as she left it; unmade and disrupted,
With the sheets tangled, so that the form of her body
Will remain imprinted beside mine.
Until tomorrow, I shall not go to the bath, I shall wear no garments
And I shall not comb my hair, lest I efface her caresses. ~ Pierre Louys, Les Chansons de Bilitis

Lay yourself upon my altar.

Leave your garments and your modesty scattered shamelessly on the floor.

I have made a fire from Oak and Rowan, it will warm you with its glow.

I’ve prepared my oils and potions, there is nothing for you to fear. Say you’re willing, say I surrender.

Say the words I’ve taught you to say.

Let me roam you like a lioness, let me prowl with intent—you, my sun drenched, luxurious savanna…oh my love, I am hungry. I can taste the measure of your soul.

They have told you to be wary, that I’m wicked, that my ways are dark and lead to sin. And yet you stood willing at my doorstep, pride in hand, lust like coal-fire spilling from your raven eyes.

I’ve allowed you things that I allow no other—to touch my magic, my witch’s tools. You’ve been free to inspect my jars of herbs and roots and dragon’s blood. You’ve heard my chanting, you’re danced by my fire; you have watched me consult the moon and the stars. You have kept me safe from the others, and for this, my love, I owe you my life.

So won’t you lie here on my altar, watch me comb the braid from my hair, watch me loosen the ties of my bodice, allow me pour you a cup of honey wine.

Please read on here…http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/01/lay-yourself-upon-my-altar/