The Wedding

Wedding Night in Raqqa Cyclonic violet vision Etheral and immortal She swirls her sand baked torso. Evoking the initial collision of primordial seed, Swathed in gossamer purple veils, Writhing to the stomping and clapping Of jeweled ankles And henna stained hands. The tribes have united for my wedding to their son. I ,foreign and naive, swoon to the power Of ancient rhythm and verse, Ripe, fertile gestures, Pregnant with throbbing pulses And scattered beats of flailing arms, Bleating tongues, spinning robes. A cacophony of incessant chant rose from the dancing women, Growing louder, feverish in their pleasure And the nearness of release. I join in the dancing. They swath me in voiles and lead me to the center I dance, and I succumb to my wedding night in Raqqa.