I do not see my Beloved in temples.

I see Her in the curve of my own hips,

in the hollows under my ribs,

in the gasp of being touched

by something so holy

my body can only exhale its delight.

I am totally undone by Her embrace.

Ripe as a dusky sun-warmed peach.

Petticoats of petals softly opening

as She shimmers between them

like powdered sunlight.

Sensuous as gold drenched silk.

I do not need a temple to see my Beloved.

She is in the softness of my elbow crease,

in the vastness held in my own gaze,

in the warm honey on my tongue,

and love’s nectar beneath my skin.

My longing for Her embrace,

quenched only by

deep velvet nights.