Tuesday, February 26, 2008
In Rumi's Tavern
(photo by N.M.Rai)
The Lover
The red gold labia
of the rose,
already beginning to
wither and curl,
how beautiful,
even as death
offers a kiss.
In Rumi's Tavern
Even now,
with the taste of honey
still on my lips,
I wake to such longing.
Echos of the night
still pulse within,
this music of the soul,
unseen singer.
Are you the Friend
or are you the Beloved?
Who cares what name
your bring.
It is only your touch
that matters.
Some call it a tavern,
some a chapel.
God is everywhere.
Take this breast
into your mouth
and drink.
Let your tongue
taste god.
Dorothy Walters
February 26, 2008
