Goddess of Sacred Sex-Alex S. Johnson


Goddess of Sacred Sex

By Alex S. Johnson

Trifold, manifold, holy whore
From her lap the seeds of holy wars
The goddess of sacred sex
Sits on a funeral mat
And ashes of her rites spear sky and earth

Two legs drove desire like bolts
To her grove, and I took the road
Most traveled, being sure of human truth
I wanted to be sure
That the syrup of her thighs, no game,
Inviting all, latent of fire,
Cracked indeed the mystery box
Desert sages once came across, and,
In fear, sealed in a library of tears

This is no religion
That hates the springs of life
Sets a seal on the zeal of begetting
Pleasures unknown, of laughter and forgetting

And there in paroxysmal night
Ears drinking tribal beats,
I drank till sated, and lay awhile again
Listening to her heart, its thrumming music
Taking quick delight in her delicious lies,
This nightingale unknown to Keats
In whom no sacrificial death bleats like the sheep
Afraid to fight shadows, enemies of sleep

My vigilance is here with her, on earth,
And with the dead I make compact
Wringing transcendence from the serpent’s breathSacred Sex


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