Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: Tribal Love

That night
He made tribal love to me.
Ancient, angry, animal love.

Drumming for the rain on the plains of our bodies
I was the sand and he was the sea
Meeting to the beat of the stampede
I was the earth and he the seed,
He the quickening quirk of the tree
Our limbs forged a forestry
Our love ran in rivers, our sweat made mists
He fathered deep need that he freed
And hunted and heaved and Eve’d in me,
He made of me an unnatural mother
To a godless and goodfull other.

Yes that night it was tribal love.
Painful, primordial love.

I needed no king for he crowned me with lips
I needed no queen for he throned me on his hips


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