Did a rewrite of this poem. Would love your feedback!
Dionysus
By Janette Schafer
When the supplicant first worshipped
the angel, his marble arms stretched
to welcome her reverential embrace.
His face bore the marks of knowing,
the skillfully carved body taut,
muscled, and beckoning. He came
to life before her eyes, beauty and art
personified, his wings melting into
the still perfection of skin.
Like Mary Magdalene, she bathed him
with the honey of her glistening eyes.
and his hairless torso shimmered like gossamer.
How intimate, how intimate,
she sang the words in her mind,
awakening beneath the sweetness
of his breath, his hands, his body.
Their coupling was an act of holiness
beautiful in its violence, its fury,
a complete giving over of the flesh.
She explored every part of him, the
tender pink of his nipples, the down
of fire, yellow and white, the stone
he was carved from both sturdy
and pliable, this living shrine of
rock and velvet, silk and sun.
The temple of this familiar
haunted and haunting, the man-boy
and the child-woman, the breaths of
thankfulness, the weeping of the
bittersweet, the nectar of forgiveness,
the hallowed ground of experience,
Amen and Amen.
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