" Sarasvati's hymn (pilgrim's payment) "
Soft,soft now--but listen,she comes during the dusking into night.
Those are not rain drops,
No.
but the silver bells she wears at her ankles,
and the golden ones on her around her supple waist that talk to the one hung down from that graceful neck
touching the honey sweet cleft of her breasts and the ylang-ylang flowers' breath nestled there.
She is the first perfume of an approaching spring rain
soundancing in the sandlewood trees,
laughing, and accepting the new wetness
Her ebonyblack hair sexes through the purpling air caressing,
it comes, it comes behind her
in gusts and gasps.
She walks this way;
her small footprints become chalices that fill with windwine.
She is coming to me to offer the grateful silks
that float on her like a musky patchouli mist
She is coming to offer me the fire in her eyes
and feel of the roll of her sea swell hips,
and all the tastes of her.
I will take what she has for me.
and give what I have as deep night comes on
staying with her in this Kaliblack darkness
and praying there is no dawn
no dawn.
no dawn.
© 2002 Alan Addotto
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