You stand. I kneel.
The perfect dance,
Where we don’t move,
Except those parts
Where you are in me.

Sometimes, we pause.
My breath stopped
By your urgency,
Which is always mine, too.
Your needs are my own.

The dance restarts. I inhale,
Capturing your scent
And we go back to our rhythm
Each moving to heighten
And deepen.

We take our time,
Ensuring the pleasure grows.
And the need becomes unbearable.
This is about the journey
And not the destination

The pace is yours
And then becomes mine
Your hands on my head,
My eyes on yours
Your breathing ragged.

As with all journeys,
There is a destination.
You arrive at yours
At the instant I reach mine.
Offering me your Gift.

What is holy, if not this dance,
The coupling of our hunger,
The passionate give and give,
The Sacrament you have given me
And the pleasure I have given you.

What is holy, if not this dance,
The temple between your thighs,
The place of service at your feet,
The Hardness that swells with need
And the silver thread from lip to tip

What is holy, if not this dance.
Filling our needs
Satisfying our desire.

This is when I worship
This is why I pray
This is what I need
This is how I heal
This is where I live.