In the desert I’d find you again
Of course it is
In the barren sand
The cooking land.
A sleek and spotted cat
In the fever shade
Of a desert stone and bramble.
I’ll sit myself
As a student does
Crossing my legs
Upon the burning sand
To watch your tail swing
Your rounded ears twitch back.
I’d have you pour your knowledge upon me
So folding my hands upon my lap
I can hope that it is so
But know only that you’ll know my truths
My motivations, perhaps better than I.
You are born of a place
Of pyramids, jungles and temples
Torches, cults, and sacrifices.
I am born of a time
Of cement, glass and paved cities
Neglect, apathy, and smog.
I would be a priestess
You — you are a god
Who might have been forgotten
In the wake of the people’s death
Save for your face, they carved upon stone.
Eager I am, to know what you might share
Tempted I am, to demand you to speak.
My ears are open and waiting
For words to dance up off your lips
And while I wait
Your golden eyes do meet mine and stare
To greet me with
[Tahni Nikitins has been a practicing pagan for seven years, though dedicated to no one pantheon or Deity, and has been writing since she could maneuver a writing utensil. She is currently attending a community college with a psychology major and a minor in comparative religions. She regularly volunteers at Sexual Assault Support Services. ]