When the heroes and heroines of fate have fallen dead to the Earth in a mess of red orange, and the icy wave has come and gone, and now Spring peaks aroused and almighty, laugh wickedly and stay with palms pressed firmly to a warm hearth.
Hear the voices of your ancestors calling from the warming stream that pools by a seductive faerie ring.
Push aside the cobwebbed layers of clothing that spell out memories on a distant branch.
Cast a glance at the way each foot melts into the moist terrain and grows like the trees into long porcelain proportions.
Your hands move in a melting motion like raw tapped syrup over your chest to hold the hallowed mountains.
Taste of the dewy oracle as your tongue passes over your lips.
Touch your skin as an ancient lover reunited for the first time in eons and move your hands close enough to reach for the forbidden fruit.
Caress the five-pointed star and indulge in the silken strokes of sage-like wisdom.
See the sun and moon reflected like diamonds in your eyes and fragments of amethyst pouring out of your mouth.
An enigmatic masterpiece, your fingers speak in divination. They hint of visionary dreams that paint a pendulum dripping with devotion along the curves of your spine.
Observe sigils appear in angelic azure upon the vast terrain of your body, and your crown adorned in a cord of ivy poetry.
A serpentine spiral at the seat of your soul, the rapture of your moaning cackle pierces radical.
Enshrined in mossy reverence, become enchanted by the naked wild dance of sacred rebellion.
Tickle your own truth and sweep your self off your own feet to fly, fly on the velvet broomstick through time.
You taste the alchemy of romance, to make love to presence.
You soften into the bed of leaves, enveloped in the Mystery of your own erotic elegance.