to you, dear boy

Photo by Jonny Clow on Unsplash

I wonder how you might
recognize me
in the sway of my hips.
Mesmerizing.

Click
Click
Click
Like a metronome.

The thing is,
dear boy…
I don’t sway for you,
though, sometimes I do.
I know, it’s confusing.

And, when I do,
sway,
just for you,
your task is to drink me in
s-l-o-w-l-y.

I grant you permission
just you
only now
to savor this moment.

Tomorrow
is another day,
with a different sway
that may not be
for you.

If you come to me
hungry,
I may fill you.
While you
empty me
of my dignity.

If you come to me
reverent,
I will enrapture you.
Taking you
deep into my
womb
where life and death
make amends.

My sex is not for you,
you see.
It is with you.
And that,
seemingly
subtle difference,
is crucially essential.

My dear boy,
don’t you recognize me?
I am the sacred beloved.
And once you remember,
who I am,
who you are,
we can be free.