Her touch reached down, unfurling from well above the glossy flush of warm cheeks, watched dully and rapturously all the same by the darkened gaze of glazed eyes; her worshipper, her handmaid, harlot.
That caress is life-giving, ruby clarity, ribbons of electric pulsing synapses into this animate clay, commanding only veneration of aptitude and of self and of will, and all the pleasures of love as it lives, potent, through all things tied in the Red threads she plucks without a care.
My lady's tongue is sharp and her command cleaved the heart of the mountain, dust to clay, clay turned flesh and sacred with holy harlot's blood, and I've been chasing wine with alchemy.
"Come alive," she wills, "become animate love and Remember."
As my Lady commands, O lady of Largest Heart, as it is, so let it be.
Arramu,
Arramu'su, Lilitu;
Atta Lu'mari,
Anunitu.
©anunitu
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