Per Os

I’m sure that the only humility allowed in
copulation is humility before the God and Goddess—
in order that they may visit the act.
          —Dukes1

                    i. Per Os

To sit at your feet
exchanging electricity
turned on per os by
mouth & eye widening a million
bright filamented
voices of luminous noises
howling contractions
of our parsed wanting gone to spark,
abbreviations
of passion punctuated with
sharp dots and dashes,
explicit diacritics and
pin-pricks unrolled tongues
prolong into trilled macrons, lips
expanding to fit
its tumescent secret split to
spill kisses panting
breathless until whispers fill them
and we fail all our
nuances, falling head over

                    ii. Per Manum

heels, two fools who feel
faint, vanishing into silence
swallowing us, whole
armies have lost themselves in pure
sacrifice to its
warmth’s liberation, servicing
so selflessly each
other’s bayonets with deepest
throats making of blood
libations enough to please gods,
whole libraries have
been burned for not having enough
to say on subjects
such as ours, on just how much sex
magic and by which
method of that art’s most shameless
sages might we best
lift the curse of this thing we crave,
invoking the names
of which saints who came before us

                    iii. Per Vas Nefandum

to tame this beast who
eats at our flesh not for its taste
but to say he did,
this desire hurting the walls with
its claws of shadow
climbing the shelves of our thoughts, each
pause a glimpse beyond
heaven into the chaos of
getting off, asking
if the greatest benefit to
sin is the jolting
stimulus it gives to seeking
sanctity, weighing
us down with its guilt, only you
know as well as I
do in the irradiating
burn of our tacit
bloom which way to bend so that some
sun can accomplish
what our clouds cannot when we come.

__________
1Ramsey Dukes, “Tuesday 30 August [1977]” in “Phase Three: Final two moons” of The Abramelin Diaries, published at London by Aeon in 2019; page 147.