Nature’s unseen hands of sorcery
in the throes of beauty unguarded
and beauty exploited,
reaching down into
the arena of desire,
deep down into the heated groin,
the epicenter of a rapacious motion
in response to nature’s calling,
drawn to its adhesive scent
where there’s no turning back,
to breathe in the perfume
of the wild Jasmine and run with
the pulse of the wild drums,
flowing into the heated ochre rivers,
down to the valley
of the sainted wolves,
to feast with the lions
and dance to the rite of passion
and take in the rapture
from the call of beauty,
its tender kisses on the skin,
its touch on the electric spine,
its seductive commands in the ear
to run through the fires
into the heat of demonic dreams
and climb the mountain with them,
and stand stop the summit
and breathe in the sweetness of the air
from the magic powers
of nature’s hands
that keep me in its grasp,
that raptured feeling,
that raptus adhesion,
until the last
breath is released
into the sweet, sweet air.

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