Saturday, April 11, 2009
You are the maker of magic!
You've asked me to bring all my cares, my hurts, my pain into our love nest so that our love will transform them into gold. Is that how it works? That, no matter what it is, it will transform into gold?
Indeed my ancient sage, indeed!
And this gold, what form does it take?
Ah, my precious one, you are its master! You are the goldsmith, the philosopher, the keeper of the stone. You are the creator, the maker of magic, the voice of abraxas.
This is all too much. I'm sure I do not understand. If I am all these things, why then do I need our love?
Oh, thrill divine! You make me explode with laughter! How tender and fine are your quizzes. Love is your power, your pain and hurts, your material. Love transforms all. And you, Magical Queen, you declare it so! Oh do come to me, let me pour myself over you. Let me shower you with heavenly kisses. Let me pin stars in your hair and litter your neck with rubies. Come to me my love, come to me!