Forest tinder sparks to flame As you stroke my skin. Your kisses like smoke Drifting over me, Choking me with desire. Craving fires my mouth, Forging prayers that leap, Burning, from my tongue. Consume my distractions, Open my soul to fresh Sweet growth, O Pan, All-Devouring Lord of the Forest! O! My mortal frame Bends like a willow basket Beneath the mighty weight Of your divinity. Forgetting every word With which to beg, I wrap myself around you, Pining to share your breath. My heart becomes yours as Your lust beats in my blood, Speeding our creative dance, O Pan, Begetter of Life! What remains of me, When thus entwined with you? Have I a tongue left With which to speak, To expound your beauty? Yes, and you stop my mouth With your name alone. Have I a body left, With which to adore you, To give myself in love? Yes, and you use it as an Instrument of your worship, O Pan, Inventor of Panflutes, Lover of spontaneous music! How shall I live without you, O playful, wild God? You pursue me until I turn My face to your chest, Panting with need. You strip me bare, my illusions Tearing like old rags Under your knowing hands. You kiss me until I lie Hot and pliant in your embrace. You make of me a hollow horn, Empty of self, fit to your lips, And filled with your words, O Pan, Wise Prophet! What more can I offer you, O goat-legged God? Your curious need to know Requires that I hide nothing. You teach me courage, To face and befriend my Frightful and ugly parts. If I run, refusing to see, You explain denial’s folly, Arguing truth at every turn. Yielding finally to the Chrysalis of your arms, I trust your transforming love, O Pan, God of Terror!
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