I have no trance-technique to sync sections,
those phat lobes, in my brain. No third wondrous
eye. No prolonged visions. Just perversions.
Just my name, tattooed between curvaceous
hips. Just my taste, etched on tongues. The gods’ thirst
for faith is upon us — “It feelsh sho’ good …”
you groaned when your root and sacral gates first
opened — return to that feeling. Childhood
scars. Good wounds. Was your first out of body
experience your first orgasm? Now,
just like then, lust is the key. Lust’s havoc.
Lust’s faith. We’ll cum as one. Our souls’ juicy
journey: it’s not just shamans who know how
to roll one hell of a shamanic fuck —