If my lover
had a cloven hoof
and a cunt and a penis
and we went along
the horizon line
shouting about it
only the people who mattered
would be left
anywhere near us
Myrna Elana, "Define 'Community': This is a Test"
Content note: sexually explicit, implicitly negotiated primal scene, chasing, hand over mouth, begging, restricted speech
The earth is wet. Trees intertwine, leaves wandering over oakbark skin,
as rustling wind teases oxygen sighs from carbon breath. Pan crawls
from her burrow, thick stone swaying as she moves wordlessly
through the old-growth forest. A sweet scent catches in her nostrils,
a perfume of orchid and wild blue phlox. She stills.
Dryad Erato appears from the brush, her chestnut curls swaying
in the morninglight. She is dressed in cloudsheer silk,
gentle rays of sunlight illuminating the faint shadow of her body.
Each equinox they meet in the oakshade to consummate the season.
Pan moves swiftly (almost silently), but with tectonic weight.
Erato gasps as she enters view, panic flowing into gentle recognition.
She giggles softly. They begin their game, running laughing,
letting her dress ride up as lace caresses her nightblue skin.
Pan overtakes her, tightly, carefully guiding Erato to the soil.
She lifts her dress above her waist revealing curves of dendron desire,
Pan cooing in her ear: Listen. Listen for me. Listen to the life we create.
Birds whistle overhead as rain rhythms through the canopy,
symphonies of organic life in orgiastic crescendo. Pan slicks the head
of her stone with morning, pressing in with a Gaianic growl.
Rose petals fold like roots around the base of the pine tree.
Honey-light, Erato groans into Pan's palm, tenderdear storm
dampening the corners of her eyes. Pan presses all space against her
and enters deeper, one hand steady on her lips, one to her breasts,
whispering: Listen. Listen for me. Listen to how nature celebrates us.
Erato pulses with immanence, matter-in-motion pleading: I need you.
Stone moves deep within her, unlacing the stream of her spirit,
fresh water pouring from beneath and soaking the earth deep.
Erato sighs want against Pan, making-home in the cycles of time.
As she rises, the whole of the forest comes together in a single note
concentrated between her and the stone, erupting into solar flare.
A river is born within her, rushing out to water the whole of creation.
The constellations give thanks overhead as the stars melt into ludic joy.
From Erato comes blooming flowers, radiating circles of pink and violet
dancing in the waves of her body. Pan holds her close as all stone enters,
the moon blushing in jealousy. They collapse, nature-in-nature,
as new trees break from the earth psalming: my love, my love, my love.
Seasons drift as moss overtakes them, fertilizing the soil beneath,
flesh-on-flesh emanating notes of matter-reborn, unveiling life anew.
The forest curled against itself, place shapes into the Plough and the Bear.
The solstice will pass as the forest sleeps, again, again to awake.
Roll me over in the morning
lover
and make me a roseScarlet Woman, “Roll me over and make me a rose”
Image: Forest Landscape with Reclining Pan by Arnold Böcklin (c. 1855)
