By Samuel Weiss

She calls for us at night:
        the moonlight a knife between shadows.
She brings us to Her feast.

        Our Mistress, Our Queen, clothed in skins and spikes.
Call her Lilith, call her God –
        Who are we to see Her ways?



Of all the men in all the world, She has chosen me.
        To be chosen is a blessing.
I do not want to be blessed.

She turns her face to me and I am ashamed.
        Shame is expected.
She is always hungry, and hunger is all I know.



It is enough to touch her lips.
        Her scarlet lips.
Touch me, so that I may know perfection.

O my Lover,
        O my God.
I give myself to you.

She Opens. ■