pre-Genesis,
she adumbrates in artifice
as you orate, then hesitate
before the portal of unnamed being
reconnoitering.

You gather your forces
to exploit her resources
aroma of Soma:
illimitable subliminal bliss
limned in liquescent lucidity. . .

Tantric hat-trick:
pull a white dove out of the universal yoni
when her lingam penetrates your third eye
your chakras align and you hit her cosmic jackpot:
all sevens in unknown Proto-Indo-European tongues.

The apsaras invite all the devis over
for Christmas in Jerusalem
Pangea cracks, spreads apart in differentiation;
incontinent continents drift
then recombine
in individuation . . .

Your anima gets an enema
as the Beast melts down
and the heavens descend.

Then clean it all up
and look for a beer in the cosmic fridge.