He lay on the sand. Grains pinked by peculiar sea life.
The foam fondled his feet. Cooled his burnished body.
She marvelled at his nakedness. Wanton and unashamed.
This be God’s imperfect flesh. Corpulent, dimpled, scarred.
“He is the Oracle,” she whispered. And she knelt to God.
His body lay between her legs. He was her Revelation.
As light as a sparrow she kissed. The funicular on his chest.
Aplombed between his breasts. Down his flaggelant heart.
Her lips stalked his topography. A journey of salt on her tongue.
His body a map to forever. Her lips his lonely pilgrim.
She followed the scar to his navel. A storm brewed in its pool.
She dipped her mouth for a drink. The sky shifted above them.
The pleasure in his belly spread. To his legs and to his heart.
The compass at his loins quivered. Its needle turned to the sky.
She witnessed and she bowed. With the dignity of a lady.
She opened her mouth and obeyed. The command of his audacity.
The sands shifted beneath him. The sea rushed to his head.
She grasped him with her mouth. She assumed command at the helm.
She gave him to the surf and back. With the softness of the foam.
He raised his arms to take her. The world has returned to its senses.
And the hues of the flora of the East. Sparked on his shoulders and arms.
He embraced her with this magic. Took her face to his breast.
To the wounds that once saved him. To the rhythms of his heart.
He gave her behest of his body. The Oracle has been found.
Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Friday, March 7, 2014