The Sun And The Moon Rite

Before you read the poem and story do me a favor: close your eyes, take a deep breath and feel the weight of the air around you. Let the outside world fall away. Read the poem aloud, and do it slowly. You are not simply reading a poem; you are stepping into the world of the poem. You are becoming the characters, the archetypes; you are becoming the Sun, The Moon, the ritual. In this world you are both witnessing and a participant. Think of it as experiment or an adventure.

At the altar

A naked full Moon-Mother

Sucks the Sun's cock

Begetting the voluptuous virgin

Of spring's delight;

The primal gaze

Of the blazing butterflies

Conceived in twilight.

The chamber is bathed and veiled in twilight-- hues of indigo and violet drape the walls, flickering in the candlelight. Like an aura of soundless chants.

You step forward, standing at the threshold, body freshly anointed with sacred and moist oils.

The air feels warm, and heavy with anticipation. Your bare feet press down on cold marble, grounding you in this moment.

At the altar, two figures await: one golden as the first light of dawn, the other pale as milk and a waning moon.

The Sun reclines, his thighs parted offering an engorged and warm invitation. His cock rising like a glorious obelisk damp with the first dews of morning. The golden phallus pulses in the half-light, a beacon of carnal desire and divinity intertwined. The Moon kneels in between his legs, her mouth wide open, tongued poised like the high priestess before a sacrament.

You step forward, drawn by an invisible force, seducing you to follow her lead. The Moon lifts her gaze, her silver eyes locking with her yours, and she extends a hand, drawing you down beside her.

Your knees fall onto the velvet cushions before the altar, surrendering yourself to the sacred unfolding. The Moon takes your hand and guides it to the Sun's slick, swelling shaft. His skin is fever-warm beneath your fingers.

"Open your mouth," the Moon whispered.

Her fingers trace the curve of your jaw, coaxing your lips apart as you lower yourself, enveloping the Sun in a slow, reverent worship. The taste of him is of salt and fire. Power and heat--fills you, and you surrender to the rhythm of your tongue swirling around his cock, gliding along his immense length, tracing the steady pulse that throbs beneath his golden thickness.

His heat floods your mouth and you swallow even deeper, until the Sun makes a loud moan. A rumbling sound that fills the chamber like the rumble and pop of thunder before a storm stirs.

Behind you, the Moon presses her body against yours, her voluptuous breasts warm against your back, her nipples hard rubbing the slickness of your oiled skin.

Her hand slides in between your thighs, fingers slipping through the wetness of your womb.

The Sun's breathing quickens, his hips arching as your mouth consumes him. The Moon's fingers dance in slow circles before pressing inside you. You moan around his cock as he twitches in your mouth.

The Moon pulls you away, your lips glistening with the Sun's essence. She lifts you up and guides you onto the altar, your body is slippery with sweat and oil.

The Sun rises above you, his presence a radiant force of nature, pouring into you; his every touch ignites a brand on your skin.

"Are you ready to burn?" he asks.

You nod. With one slow thrust, he enters you, stretching you open. A gasp spills from your lips as moves into you, slow at first, then, with the rhythm of the cosmos. Every thrust setting stars alight behind your eyes.

Above you, the Moon straddles your face, her thighs silken against your cheeks, her scent an ambrosial aphrodisiac.

"Drink me," she commands, her voice quaking with a hypnotic power.

You obey. Your tongue finds the sweetness dripping from her cunt, honeyed and wild; something primordial before language tried to define the soul. She moans, fingers threading through your hair, hips rolling against your mouth.

The Sun surges within you, the Moon quivers above you, and you, caught between them. Pleasure tightens, an eclipse on the verge of breaking. A supernova waiting to explode. You can't resist any longer. You cry out, the sound muffled by the Moons flesh as you shatter.

The Sun erupts inside you. And the Moon howls, drenching your lips in nectar. In that moment the veil of self dissolves and you are nothing and you are everything.

Eternal and imperishable.

The Sun and Moon in union. Light and dark entwined.

The Sun kisses your forehead. The Moon plays with your hair. As you drift off into the afterglow, wrapped in the warmth of their bodies, the final revelation sears itself into your mind:

There is no separation. Only the endless spiral of becoming--the infinite communion of flesh and light.

The rite is complete.