sacramental meat

sexual awakening Let my fond lips but drink thy golden wine,

My bright-eyed Arab, only let me eat

The rich brown globes of sacramental meat

Steaming and firm, hot from their home divine,

And let me linger with thy hands in mine,

And lick the sweat from dainty dirty feet

Fresh with the losse aroma of the street,

And then anon I’ll glue my mouth to thine.

This is the height of joy, to lie and feel

Thy spiced spittle trickle down my throat;

This is more pleasant than at dawn to steal

Toward lawns and sunny brooklets, and to gloat

Over earth’s peace, and hear in ether float

Songs of soft spirits into rapture peal. Aleister Crowley