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“… loveroot, silk thread, crotch and vine.”
— Walt Whitman

I’m not interested in who suffered more,
just those who mastered pain’s blood alphabet.
Trust joy. If what you long for is a door
that will lead you to love do not forget
that the door is here. What other purpose
could the orgasm have but to let me
talk to gods? At the moment of climax
when I leave behind ego and body
I call that act enlightenment – no hate,
attachment or pain – only bliss. Only
pilgrims working hard at their nightly prayers,
at blood’s loveroot. Don’t trust those who dictate
the path to wisdom. They are not holy
like you and all of your sticky fingers.