O’ what joy is this!
You cast me out unto the black sky,
Like the scattered milk of Life,
Poured forth so generously to become the bodies of stars,
Your droplets of life sustaining essence,
Illuminate and cause all emergence of Light,
From your toyful mind and into the infinity of your children.
O’ what joy it is to taste you,
To play among your manifold arms,
Whose infinite reach expands into even the most destitute of shadows,
There you grip me!
You grasp!
You clench me!
My heart!
It is crushed by you,
All its blood pushed past its seams,
A river of red life,
Poured back into your lovely mouth.
And so I am the fruit you have tended,
I am the red berry you have warmed in the summer of your atomic creation,
Eat of me and enjoy me:
The careful work of your hands,
Your child of many,
Your lover,
Your parent,
Your whore and your bride,
Your slave and your groom!
Every particle of this body was always yours to reap,
Pop me deeply red,
Crimson on your tongue.
O’ what joy this is!
When your milk has gone old,
And becomes blackened by the passage of time,
And I am pulled to you across all aeons,
Into the consuming draw of the hole you had left here,
In my remembrance and so too of the World’s,
Where you had once given all life,
All returns to your perfectedness,
Retrieved and made singular once again.
O’ what joy you are!
The one and my only choice,
Matko Moja,
Jedyna Niebiańska,
Delect upon me,
Taste this flesh you have birthed,
Eat of it!
Yes, drink of it!
The wine that becomes ready for summer,
The days that become short so the night of your brilliance grows long.
And in the black sky,
I will see my eyes swim with the light of every star,
And in them, surely you will meet me,
And I you;
And we will know each other as One,
And rejoice in the taste you had sowed in me.
My mother!
Devourer!
O’ joy Herself!
Terrible and irresistible,
As I am to you,
You Are to Me.
