Women have an extra magick
Miracle of blood without wound
Bound up in the Mystery of motherhood
Earth-magic, woman-magic
Subtle as undertow
Quiet as the eye of the hurricane.
This primal power, mine,
Its ehcoes in my with every gift of body -
Too much sacred in those reverberation
To grant holy passion lightly -
This woman's sacrament
All-enfolding
A fugue of sensation
Gentle, irresistable
Floodtide that allows no barriers
Filling in all the gaps in a spirit
With trails of red
Electrifying, now,
Trails of green flame like new spring vines
Serpentine, reaching
Coiling up to touch the sun
Roots already deep in mystery
Web-working deeper
Stretching through depths, breaking stones
Like an implacable oak, now
Reaching for an ember half-sensed
Waiting to form channel between that and reason.
Now, the moment prepared
The stone stiletto ready
A moment of blue-white, glaring through my eyes
The blade drives in sudden violence
Another miracle -
Wound without blood
My arms around you now
Protective, posessive
Your murmured "Yes, Mistress" to my chest
Making me smile, not command -
I stroke your hair, your shoulders
Holding thus to the last moments
Of Mystery shared
And more than mystery
Oathsworn, now, no words exchanged
But the promise made nonetheless
Yours, beloved,
So long as you wish me
So long as you bear the burden
And the joy
Of that spiked fragment of my soul
I drove into your heart.

- 5 June, 1998