She has eyes the colour of a lion's mane
That ever flicker and dart glances
Both compassionate and cruel:
Wait--
Is this it?
Is this shiver that now ripples through my very marrow
The thing ancients felt and then decided to pay her her due?
To so enthrone her upon lions
(Durgē, Durgē! Astarte, Astarte! Kybele, Kybele!)
To have her wade in blood up to her knees
(Sekhmet, Sekhmet! Kaaliikee, Kaaliikee!)
To have her tame the gods themselves with her powers
(Prathyangirē, Prathyangirē! Mahalakshmiye, Mahalakshmiye.)
She laughs and underneath the lid of her tongue
Boil and bubble a thousand bawdy jokes
All more horrible than the ones that preceded them;
She tosses her hair as she rides me
And I knew how Narasimha felt
When Narasimhi alighted upon his knee;
"I've got you now," her smirk tells me
And oh, how gladly am I taken!
Even the most infuriating of her ravishments
--woman, you are not letting me move
so that I could at least try and return them!--
And the most appalling of her tales
I groan-laugh and bear underneath her
This great lioness of a woman
As playful as a kitten.
Even in her taking,
She heals.
Even in her wildness,
She pours balm into your wounds.
Even in her maddest dances,
She pulls you in, twirls you and sets you free
As if you had never been crippled.
A marvel you are, my lithe feline,
The keeper of the keys
To this treasure-chamber in my heart
That I scarcely knew existed
Until our Master showered us with his riches.
Oh, he has the keys,
I have the keys--
It's not as if I could not get into this chamber myself--
But I cannot help but love the best
*Your* opening of the locks
As you cackle there and purr there and play:
With that shake of your hips
And that toss of your hair
And your tongue-tip peeking out from between your teeth
As you draw the bow and aim
For another outrageous quip about to shoot from your lips
My adored, my lion-eyed mistress.