To Worship a Goddess

The scars have healed nicely. The ribbons of open flesh have slowly sealed themselves and the rivulets of blood seeping forth have long since dried up. Yet, I can still feel the sting in my flesh. I can still feel the tearing sensation as her nails claw into my skin, tearing at my soul. I am marked. My body, like my soul, belongs to her and no one else. Like a feral animal, she placed her marks upon me, claiming me as her territory. Brutally she ravaged my corporeal form causing it to cry out at her divinity, to worship her as a goddess. Truly she is. She is of the flesh, as I am, yet deep within her breathes an endless soul wrapped in divine purpose. I gladly submit to her power, for in her painful embrace I find true devotion, true love.

I do not wish to be subjugated. I do not wish to be ruled. I am an immortal being, my soul cascading through time on its endless journey to perfection. I am a vampire. I am a hunter. I am a predator. But like the predatory cats living upon the Serengeti, creatures of pure ferocity, I live a life wherein social order is the utmost concern. I am the alpha male. I lead the pack. I control the direction and will of the pride. But it is my queen, the matriarch, who rules me. The pack follows me, and I follow her. To disdain her is to risk pain. To cross her is to risk death. Truly, I belong to her.

Love comes in many forms. Adoration for a parent, the unshakable love for a child, the long steady love of your life�s soul mate, the feral lust of sexual heat and the pure adoration of divinity. The shades and degrees of love are innumerous, uncountable and endless. So, how does one measure love? Is it by the strength of the feeling? Or on its permanence? How do you gauge the limit to your love? And once this is gauged, once this is measured, how do you express this love to another? I hear the words spoken all the time. �I love you,� has become so commonplace as to be a greeting, or a salutation. I have seen them written a THOUSAND times or more. Does this make them any truer than hearing them spoken? No. Love is an emotion that pores out from the soul. I can hear the words, I can even see them, but until I can touch the soul, until I can feel the aura of the person speaking them wash over me, they are just that, words.

So what makes the love of my Goddess so true? What makes her love real? It is not the words, nor is it in the way she says them. It can only be found in the delicate trappings of her spirit as it winds around me like ceremonial bandages being wrapped around the Pharaoh on his way to his eternal rest. Embracing me like the caress of water as I submerge into a heated pool of water, her soul speaks to me. As her words float upon the air, ringing in my ears like the gentle tinkling of a thousand wind chimes, her soul echoes with the reverberations of true love. It thunders through me like a bolt of lightning, crashing down from the heavens. It assails me in both body and spirit, and fills me with wondrous joy. I feel it in the tips of her fingers as she claws me, scoring my skin. I can even feel it in the painful clamping of her jaws as her teeth bite into me. She feasts upon me, body and soul and with every movement, every gasp of breath, I feel her love within me, feeding me. I am possessed, both by her power and by her love.

Separated by almost a thousand miles of rocks, trees, and desert, I pine for her touch. I sit here day after day, waiting for the moment that we can once again embrace each other and let our souls mingle as our bodies merge together. I dream of the moment I can once again stare deep into her soul through the wondrous eyes that sparkle like gems as they stare deep into my countenance. My soul desires her, my body craves her touch, so soft and delicate as she flays the skin from my body. My very breath calls to her with each ragged intake of air, wishing to once again inhale the intoxicating scent of her body as it warms to my touch. It steels my resolve. It gives me limitless strength to endure. I will cross that desert, I will pass among those trees and rocks, upon my hands and knees if I must. Though bloody and broken, ravaged by time and tribulation, I will once again bask in her glorious light. I will prostrate myself at her feet waiting for the comfort of her ministrations to my soul. And when her nails dig deep into the skin of my back, raking the skin, fresh founts of blood pouring forth, I will be complete. I will be at rest.

In time, my body will regain its strength, my wounds will knit and heal. My soul will be come complacent and my love will pour forth endlessly. I will relish each day as it comes, I will adore every weal, every scar that she places upon me. I will worship her as she deserves to be worshipped. She is my Goddess, my Queen. She is all that I love in this world.

She is my salvation.

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