(A work in perpetual progress)
Pink juice, spicy blood, soft lips, fleshy pulp,
so tender is the first bite that grazes the tongue with sweet acidity.
Eve, were they afraid of your hunger?
Creating deceptions to replace independence with seduction and sin.
There is no shame in craving liberation.
Fucking dominating gods with long beards and over-inflated egos,
The Marys giggle when they come. There are no virgins here.
Conceiving the seed on the vine can produce the tastiest of treats.
Did you really think the gods and sons had control? Think again.
There is graceful philosophy in the erotic artistry of mothers and lovers.
The face so beautiful, full of flowers and delectable features
and inside the pomegranate she digs for its succulent heart.
The Underworld cannot resist the savory fingers of such a belle.
Death wants a taste of your addicting muliebrity.
Goodbye Persephone, your sugar helped you down.
Dear Pandora, Epimetheus told you not to open the jar!
Never do what they tell you, you learn so quick.
It took the rest of us infinite moments of endlessness.
Thank you for creating the balance that perfects the mystery of meaning,
But where is our hope?
My Kali, creator of potent destructions and rebirths.
From her womb she bears stars with fierce electricity.
But maternity breathes easy behind those combustible glances,
mutilated muscles, violent tempests and unbridled evolution.
Who said equipoise was pain free?
The Moon whispers songs of three on ribbons of darkness.
Raise your lantern Hecate of ancient wisdoms.
Show us paths of shadow and light, lambs and murderers.
The grandest mother of yawning depths and souls' crossings.
Please give Persephone a kiss for us as you guide her home again.
The divine dealt you a prison Deirdre of the Sorrows.
But your shoreless love floods oceans deeper than any cosmic blueprint.
Reclaim your freedom with the twining vines of the Yew.
Such prophecy can never shatter the true beauty of a woman's heart,
unlike the fragile skull against a jagged rock.
Ladies can also be saviours.
Like the dame who claims the name Dyndraine.
Sacrificing gifts of sangre and soul for a man's Quest.
Christ has nothing on you sister.
Drink freely from thy own overflowing Grail of infinite divinity.
You knew its secret all along.
Madame Pele, it is no wonder you are 'She who shapes the sacred land.'
Your blood boils under the passion of the soil's supple skin.
Blaze your sister bitch and her precious with heat and light.
Existence to ashes.
It is dangerous to mess with a woman who braids flames in her hair.
In such a position that one can so easily find himself within,
the lap of Delilah is so comfortable is it not?
But never close the eyes or the honey she will steal from the lion.
The strength of the beast will surrender to the touch of silky skin.
Never underestimate her survival instinct.
Isis, goddess of beginnings and endings and beginnings again,
Skin as smooth and black as malachite.
The power of magic words instills life into your beloved dead deities.
Blessed with the skill to turn a viper's venom into an elixir.
Gods owe you their immortality.
White Buffalo Calf Woman
gives her people the pipe and the prophecy.
Smoke to death to bones for the men who desire her.
Love and guidance and vision to the men who respect her.
Honor and strength and wisdom to all women and children.
We still await her return…
And now my temptress mothers, it is my turn.
Shall I do you proud? I will try.
In my vein runs your dream and my cells carry your cunning craft.
Peachblood will spill, I can promise, once again.
Herb Leonhard
