She starts to tell me about
dripping nectars of pacha mama
and I find myself drifting away
into worlds where people just love
respect and gather
where men don't put their hands together
over dead flesh to remember puffs of ancestors
or praise the sacred masculine
that requires blood to protect the sacred feminine
rising from the ashes of unfairness
In that world we dance and don't think
about happiness and prosperity
and crystals on third eyes that empower
our beings of light and inner wisdom
Yummy goodness of the temple
of goddesses, - she continues
I'm long gone. I need to gather water
from the creek that runs from the mountain
dripping water that saw the moon
into glass, for tea
