She leads me to the crumbling edge–
nudges me with feline boldness
to plunge
breast forward into the yawning
canyon of shamelessness where I gasp
through a mingling of pleasure and giddy terror.
She coaxes me into a darkness
rippled with light
promises, and benign danger.
Rounded hips weave a figure eight,
as rhythmic incantations unlock
invisible gates to a delicious thunder.
A pulse of divine surges
golden current from the fiery bowl
of my soft belly to the sacred place
where my feet kiss the earth;
a tiny door opens into the cathedral
of my chest, with the courtesy
of a tempest's entrance.
Like a spent magnolia petal, I fall
deeper in love with my curves,
my own lusciousness, my hungering
breath, my messy emotions.
The she-wolf howls with her pack;
the hawk soars alone on ever-spiraling updrafts;
and the changing woman waxes a sickle in the night,
as inter-dimensional helixes merge
into the eternal circle of her song.
She leads me to the crumbling edge–
~Suzette Winona Summers