Poems of love are too fragile an account, for you, my ainalayin eternal,
No, you’re not a poem, not a poem, you were always my revelation, my line of light, justified & mystical, my Song of Songs, free in sex, my ayat of awakening, divine Allat known & recognized by my heart, my Kitab of the waters, and earth, and such drunken moonlight, reflecting you reflecting me reflecting & reflecting & reflecting.
Assel: my earth, my messiah-mistress, dances for me, performing her rite so richly, and I am bewitched, soothed & healed, and I am riled up & aroused, how she plays and teases, drinks & tames, submits & demands submission, above me so below, my god, her candid curls a raw ritual, holy tresses bath my naked body, sweetest yoni of the goddess …
My revelation, what she is, was, will be, my revelation of Love.
I see her, I am submission, I submit & submit,
And whisper again: Alhumdulilah, such beauty, is this really all mine?