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From the womb we came,
corrupted by that interchange
of legs and and lust and waste
in daily passage, all a daily confirmation
of our origin and destiny
of birth and joy,  and in the end
all cast aside,  returning to the earth..
And, what to make of this?

Perfected paramecia we are,
who separated once, at length
gained our delight in conjugation,
celebration of the rite
that made us phallic little gods,
banged out the earth eons ago--
made her a goddess like ourselves.
We called her Gaia,  ravaged her,
and finally at rest,  slept in her arms
for an eternity--or so.

It was Diana who would break
the bonds of time, forsake
the solemn scribes who wrote
the canticle of man, and who
presumed to separate the evil
from the good.  It was Diana
who called down the muses
from Olympus, bared her breasts,
and taught the spirit winds the art
of lust.

Diana was the one
who sang of God, 
of beauty undefined 
by penitence or prudery,
instead by every kind of love!  

It is the Goddess of the Moon
that I extol, beyond the dust of Earth. 
It is concupiscence
that I must celebrate, for that in her
becomes the piety of cherubim
who would never understand
the mystery of sin.
            ~

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