A shaman of sorts, tribal tattoos on his limbs,
Silently lips chant, eyes roll back, sky dims.
Dark eyes stare, entranced by the drum,
Primal attraction stood staring, rigid and numb.
Upright and centred they dance forwards and back,
Fingers press flesh, releasing feelings of lack.
Destined skin fuses, soft bodies yield.
The suffocating canyon rift is healed.
Sweet sweat, salty tears – making sense of it all,
Intoxicatingly addicted, following desires call.
Plaits and mocha replacing contemporary sins,
The elders embrace, whispering to the wolves in the winds.
Pain is released as they stretch out their palms,
Raindrops pour, as the energy calms.
Listening to hearts, they pulsate with grace.
Gentle power, sat breathless, examining her face.
The eagles collect, and encircle his crown,
Screeching for closeness, floating gently back down.