On Enlightenment

After the threesome,
we go out to eat. No longer
strangers, we sit facing the street
and watch an unhurried parade.
Men move as a many-legged
mass to hold the cloaked
statue of a woman. Hours before,
I removed my clothes, mounted
a feathered pedestal
for a procession of dutiful
hands. When the dog, too,
jumped onto the bed,
I thought I was born
to be touched like that, anonymous
limbs and everyone’s tongue wanting.
In the mirror, we three were deities
from the temple of my childhood,
many-armed, bodies combined.
Oh my God, how good
it feels to submit to something.
To be tangled like this. For years
I clasped my palms unsurely, afraid
to ring the bell. What a revelation now
to bring my mouth to other mouths
the way I once sipped holy water
from a small copper bowl, in pursuit
of an awakening.