Sultana of the Sun…
Sultana of the Sun, Light your candles. Hold them against your earthly casting Until it awakens and begins to melt.
Watch it as it seeps into current, Separating, coalescing, separating anew. What is the color of a waxen womb That sculpts and molds Its own exodus toward atonement?
Feel your awareness blossom into A procession of softened flesh Coruscating with the abandoned sway Of particles infused with Harmonies perpetually-reborn.
Move with them through darkened moons And pristine, sunswept capes. Nurture them as the dust that Scurries along each moistened strand Of your sea-silken hair, Seeking refuge upon the tender peaks of Saturated breasts.
Mind the brittle bones of rhythms immemorial. Find your ghosts and careen with them. Render supplication with coffrets bearing Lubricious gazes and oblique steps Toward dimensionless borders.
Unearth the wings you once buried in shame. Scream until your voice coincides With the transcendent cry of the original drifting womb. Meet me where the current ends And we’ll enter it together, And bathe in its igneous expulsion.
If you are tired you can rest here Upon this tuft of sand. And tomorrow you can fly Back through the tunnels your graceful reveries have fashioned, Back into the arms of a lotus you once knew, Planted while you were asleep By a spry and expectant Dawn.
Art: “Day of the God (Mahana No Atua)” Paul Gaugin