The Idol

Circling in reverence,
I approach the keeper of the icon.
With low moan she blesses my trespass...
and I bow to pay homage before the shrine.

Sensuously, lingua dances,
exploring the fleshy folds of the vestibule,
eager to find the small pink idol...
that myriad have worshiped before.

Opening the vaulted doorway,
the altar upon which I must sacrifice lay before me.
With gentle veneration, I place my offer...
before the tender pink idol.

Seeking stability, the keeper's hands...
close tightly upon the vessel of my offering.
The rapture, so patiently tended, swells...
from simple fervor to delirious crescendo.

And with murmured voice...
her chants of praise traverse slowly up,
bringing forth the torrential rains,
deluging this, her valley of sanctity.