Feast of the Female


Along the process of evolution
A genre stopped midway
and, grew buds of laughter 
and love, as they flew past
horizons of water colors.
Lilacs, Lemons and Strawberries
and called each other Diana.

Women of the hills,
daughters of Vayu
and of the valley,
gypsies of flower gardens
and tastes of spice routes,
are borne of a race, unknown
to the domestic walls of 
routine and loss

As they move, in and out
of boredom and bedspread
to the kitchen sink,
they breed zygotes of storm
on their bath, breads and dinner plates.

The feast for the Gods,
that they serve upon their bodies,
in between the legs of the dinning table,
are nothing, but
routine rice puddings on skin
salt less and stale, for 
the lust of the other race.

To taste the female
you need to fly along
and cross paths of Odysseus,
wonderlands of Alice, 
and northern sunflower fields,
taste wine,
laugh aloud
kiss the air, and
copulate downstream
where the river meets the green. 


Diana- Goddess of hunt, moon and birthing and associated with wild animals and woodlands.

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