Your heavy breathing ever intoxicates me
Inspiring me, so I wade in your breath as a memory
Of you pulsating around me, your palm I am
I abate and hush your godly qualms
Drunk on the moment we touched
To touch you was to touch a thousand suns
Knowing me was to see what flames of love could do
As I feverishly traveled loft to low along your staff
Yes, from loft to low like the lick of a whip
Until Khonsu finished his routinely turning
To this hour your absence has left these fingers mourning
Tracing hieroglyphs of our dance in the empty air
I veil my eyes with wet papyrus
Inscribed within detailed passages of us
Of the first gelling and the first yoke
The first utterance of me you spoke
You spoke in prayer and in moans, so do I now
In song to Naunet, in dance and in view
Of our primordial creations, birthing
The ogdoad in Nun’s amniotic waters
Visions overcome me, visions of my spirit
Floating like a plank towards the stone, Benben
Where by the waves and tides of the Watery One
I was ushered forth as your hand, more you than our son
I promise that at my own will, like that first dawn,
To withstand this chasm that reverence won’t fill
I’ll resign to a post as a servant, to be a fleshly good
To, once again, bear eight seeds in the ground where the acacia stood
Do I dare call upon Nun out of sour desperation?
Out of obsessive longing that curdles in my stomach as milk
That coats and slicks my body with seven sacred scents
O Inert One, dissolve this cosmos back to it whence came
To be, again, the hand that peels the skin of the snake
If not, then Atum, assign me to lull and serenade you
With my touch, in the center of a lotus flower, perched open
At the peak of the pyramid mound, with gaping mouths
As I bring forth the eruption of life from you, Atum