she slips, grace in divine
puddles, muddy on her tinkling
trinkets, the bells wrapped
globules of light hang in the air
and resonate a glowing frequency,
which ripples across the water, shivers
her body and sends sparkling
waves into the veins and bark about.
And the vines reach out off
trees and send their thin
bodies around the globs of
light, they pour their whole
into the balls and they pulse
in electro-magnetic delight,
whole of the spine shiver
incandescent particles down
the stamens of nearby flowers
who palpitate in the sweat
And the centipedes embark
on nocturnal voyages, mistaking
the globules of light now
rising from the forest all around
for small suns, they stretch
their spines and thousandfold legs
to their deity, they feel the spark
of a new divine light fill them,
one far more fetid and feverish
than that which they sought, but
O how much more sweet and of
delight! Their bodies glisten,
to reflect the light of these many suns,
expressed only in the subtlest of light.
Yet these small centipedes slurp
this light like an orgasmic stew
and their feelers tingle in slight.
And the various flies, their bodies
long, insipid, stark, or fat
flurry about the titillating orbs,
they frolic about a sight
unseen by the men of the world,
one which reveals itself only
to the willing and untameable,
and their bodies enliven,
their small minds buzz only
to fill the universe and even the lowest
and most vile of the world are
hoisted to the godly seats.
And, wide-eyed, the virgin sits
in the stream gurgling passively, taking
her for a stone, taking her body
as a charnel ground from which
it absorbs small tingles of flesh.
She sits in an expressionless trance,
watching the flora and fauna enliven,
turn before her into something
beyond that which was known
to her or to those she was from.
She watches as the tiger lope in
from a distance, into the celestial
light of the orbs, and he reaches
his tongue to a twilight tango
with the milky light of the orbs,
and his body begins to glow,
his hairs stand in a limbo
between the earth and the stars,
suspended like marionettes, shifting
in a windless wind. And his eyes,
once dark, become full pits of starlight,
which release a magical aether
nearly breaks beneath the quivering
startle of the dewed bath.
Starlight cannot come close to pronouncing
the indelible feat and feature of the forest.
The young girl rises from the pond, entranced
and gone and walks to the tiger. She
pets the tail, stokes the fur, parries the loin
and mounts him from above. She stares as he
stares into the orb. The vines wrap their
bodies and pierce and play. The bugs filter
above the vines and satiate their untamable
lust on their follicles, and everything was lost
to the bliss of dewy stars. Until the orbs change,
recollect themselves, tell the vermin to tail it,
and trace a path for the tiger, entrained, with
the woman collapsed on his back to follow.
To a bed chamber deep in a hollow, cut in the
heart of a forest. Animals as kings, virgins
as whores, whores as queens.
