Incantation (Use with Caution)
Tonight.
Tonight I call.
Tonight I call down.
Tonight I call down the light of God into my frail body because tonight I must make love to the world and not that Tinder love but that love that burns from the forges of creation, that waits, coiled deep within us, waiting for the holy What-The-Fuck?! to bore into our heads and shake and wake us, oh! that deep down love that uncurls so so slowly, lithe, little serpent of illumination, that love that unwinds minute-by-ecstatic-agonizing-minute and slides over nerves that have forgotten the heat of creation and that slinks on up through the blessed center of our miracle bodies, our imperfect-and-destined-to-fail bodies that for these holy moments are indestructible now re-made in the fire, that electric love that builds a steady charge, that reaches out into your every teeny tiny capillary and funks you up from fingernail to funny bone, that tingly, aching, grind rising into your throat and making you say things that you could only have words for when under the influence of the holy white fire of all creation. Love called from below by the love that enters from above. That love. That love.
Oh! that love.
That love I call down unto me, God.
That love I beg you to release from inside of me, God.
That love, world.
That love, world.
World, world, oh! world, brace yourself, oh! world, oh! world, oh! that love.
God, god, that love I call tonight.
Tonight I call that love, that love.