Omnis gens quaecumque se in se perficere vult

“The seed of generation, driven to perfect itself, driving deep into the woman’s body, driving to bring the future into being.” - J.M. Coatzee

Love, that ancient act— this time you play man, I’ll play woman Join me in the game the ones our grandparents played and theirs before them like they’ve done for millennia before the written word before bricks were sculpted and caked with sunlight into cities before the idea of the seed planted in earth, before the scythe, the plow, the ox before our gods had names in the time before memory

The man loved the woman in fields and caves, by night fires, under the embrace of trees, beneath sacred stars sweetly, violently the skin of humanity wandered valley and river mounted crag and bluff to merge with itself

Our great-great grandmothers, grandfathers before they shriveled, hollowed, bent and blanched before color departed their flesh and left them as pale shadows and their eyes went blank before the aching and humiliation of age the suffering and fear and suffering

They were full of life, like us full of gold, ripe as fruit yearning and lusting joy appearing abruptly with the meeting of mouths the shock of the tongue twisting their bellies did it always feel forbidden, this joy? eyes shimmering like sunlight that ripples off the river the limbs, the face, otherwise so ordinary suddenly change their purpose converting to instruments of ecstasy So you grab me here, I’ll lick you there let our mouths transform into caverns of passion I’ll give you my essence, distilled consume me, let me drink in your gaze rapture weeping from our eyes radiating from our skin in savage pulses

Why does the thought of your touch make my bones shudder? And the bones buried beneath my feet, under the stone cross, must have known this same shudder this fierce pleasure sweet unity this love between woman and man driving us forward into the next life.