meditation on exotic dance

Inanna,
Priestess of the dance of Union,
shows me that special move
climbing the staff
to the roof of the temple
priming herself to the
baccante and panic
drums pounding great rhythm
screaming to the guitar

She dances toward me
slithering in Kundalinistic glory
revealing her bosom, her yoni
in slow strips of cloth

I only gaze on her eyes
I give her my tribute,
too poor to be a devotee
of the secret candlelit chamber
hidden by black velvet curtains

The Goddess smiles
knowing I am here only
for respect and admiration
not ogling or gawking
just donating money to her
pursuit

so that years from now
she will heal
with kundalini,
tools and medicine

so that she not need give her
skin to strangers again.

tonight, though
we look at each other in appreciation
and wish it were some other way of greeting