Plucked From The Vine by Candice Moraga
What kind of god could make even the wild tigress lay at his feet and fawn over him?
Toying with mere humans for your own pleasure and amusement –
a flawed god, indeed.
Embracing and embodying the flawed inconsistencies of humanity,
You throw those under your influence into a spin.
The muses gather round you,
singing and playing their flutes.
Writing poetry and prose,
they toy with the consciousness of men,
Ripping their heads off after blowing their minds to pieces,
Only to revel in wild abandonment at your feet.
I am drunk with you, intoxicated…
“Estoy a tus pies.”
You care not for me, but only of your own amusement.
One cannot hope to be idolized by one’s own idol.
And so it is with this in mind that I offer up sacrifice of my flesh to you,
And offer up praises in song and prose.
You will treat me brutally,
but I will return to the temple once again.
I will kneel at your altar and ask you for more.
You send me into wild abandon,
dancing in frenzied, sensual gyrations…
Lusting evermore for you, my lover,
to fill me with sweet surrender.
Take from me my toils, tribulations, travails…
Take from me my pain and plight –
I will offer up orgiastic,
orgasmic bliss and pleasure…
Dance with me into the sublime and I will envelop you with my song –
I sway in your embrace…
Celibate to man, I have been promised as the bride,
Faithful only to the one I worship tonight.
But you are not faithful to me,
And I will feel the pain of your absence,
Agonizing in the wake of your departure.
I know this,
and still I give myself to you unheedingly,
Reveling in my hedonistic pleasure.
Our love affair is a cruel one.
I might end up having to leave you for another god.
But not before I pluck you from the vine
and
drink down your sweet essence one last time,
Licking my lips lasciviously,
And I find that lust and joy are one in the same.
