On this cold day I offer a warm poem.
My Sacred Lover
Long ago on moonlit night
standing naked on the earth
I called to Pan with open heart
and so he came with pleasure's touch.
From wooded darkness he did come
from fervent rut and primal throb
and horned he stood like blackened flame
to touch my skin and warm my blood.
My hands were his and so they worked
with fevered pitch and soft caress
and as our bodies writhed as one
a moonlit river...
deluge of stars.
As seed was spilled upon the earth
as lightning flashed across my mind
the chill of sweat upon my flesh
so marked as his was I that night.
IAO! Pan! My sacred lover,
Who warms my bed on winter's night,
I bow before your starry rise
And rest within your starry fall.