Burma Showed Me How

I've got
the fire between
my thighs, gourd rattles
percussion in erotic message,
embracing audible sighs, I heard
her say my name in Russian,

~ "sage Of svituoter" ~

I carry
with me the
vessel to boil
the berries, cauldron's
red color, I used to blush
that shade, with shy muteness,
I used to wrestle quiet orgasm
in the corner with ropes tied by
my own hands, when the self-timed
bell rang, I won not a sound, narcissistic
demands, tonight I screamed, cleansed my teardrop
prism crystal, healing cleavages in consciousness,
reweaving the fissures, fragrance therapy wafted
in bayberry,

soul link,
staring deep
into her Baker-Miller
Pink, In 1979, Alexander
G. Schauss, Ph.D, turned me
on to his experiment with the
use of a particular shade of pink
and its affect on mood and behavior,
the Goddess as my Saviour, I have an
invasive lust for tasting Baker-Miller
Pink, playing her in the key of C[litoral]
getting her off, so in tune with woman's voice,
encore on my knees, firing her out - the beautiful
Indian porcelain trade plate, the transformation of
white clay and weathered stone and quartz serenaded
by planetary drums and cymbals, the beat of Jupiter's
Fire, silver finger bells and gold quilting thimbles get me there,

pilgrimage to
Mogok, Valley
of Rubies, sacred
and peerless stone,
made from fire and blood
of the earth, padamya, (plenty
of mercury), Burma showed me how,
I did not sacrifice pigeon blood,

I kneeled,
she had fire
between her thighs...

Copyright 2/22/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater

We Gave Cephalonia

woman's cobbler
unsewed the bag of
the winds, flying her
flag, give me Cephalonia,
Greek word for head,

harvesting olives,
sea breeze carries scent
of oregano and thyme, convergence
of oral lust, poetry of Ionian rhyme,
geography of an ancient watercourse, fault
lines of ancient time,

bells of unseen
goats ring, I bury
my head in the donkey's
flanks when I see her drawing
water from twin wells, helped by
two donkeys hauling on a rope attached
to a bucket,

"I've been
grazing on
shriveled grass
or none at all,"
she said, flying her
flag, "give me Cephalonia,"
Greek word for head,

she laid
me on the green
banana-leaf carpet,
on top, me, palimpsest
beneath a medieval manuscript
of 69 pages in a poppy field,

monastery trees
lined with a circle
in the middle, full face
and bent knees, lush with
bougainvillea, we gave Cephalonia,
in a sensual tangle of wild pear,
deciphering the erotic language of
the Minoan Crete...we gave Cephalonia...

Copyright 3/1/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater

Persia Has a Name

spirit-possessed
pumice stones, hieroglyphs
carved with bones,

library of
scrolls, erotic
tomes, cosmic chimes,
marble and enamel,

Persia has
a name for a
camel who won't
give milk until her
nostrils are tickled,

grapevines parted
carefully to reveal
tongues of fire, narcotic
sauvignon and pinot noir,

telescopic,
flame licking
wick, hot wired,
two copper wires
jumpstarting passion's
audible sounds escaping
from the music conservatory,
energized with the Mozart effect,
composer of the Jupiter symphony,
lives otherworldy music realm, a
lock of my hair triangled under her
nose, now she gives...

Copyright 3/12/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater