Isis in Sweatpants
from where I lay across
the mattress altar,
nude as a sacrifice
trussed in bed sheets,
I bear witness to my
Isis in sweatpants
dancing before her
full length mirror,
this propped portal
to an inverse world
of realized possibilities.
two frenzied goddesses
match motions
to the furious beats
of playlist natives.
her whipping black hair
creases reality.
the reflection of her
chameleon eyes
mesmerizes me,
inspires rigid worship.
her hips bend my will
to her contours.
her pores soak in
my adoration
until her skin glows
with sweaty divinity.
her moves send
ripples of resurrection
through my flesh,
seducing my nerve endings
with the desire to break
my Egyptian cotton bonds
and dance beside her.
Horror Sleaze Trash 