Lessons learned on a cold winter night, 

wind driving rain patters against glass. 

Take this cup from me. It boils,

 the burden of a holy grail, a sacrament unpassed, 

the sacred burden unwanted. This cup 

that is my destiny. I crawl 

across carpeted floor, my flesh 

a gleaming moon-white 

against the golden halo of candle, 

and my aloneness is more a burden 

than any fire or grail.

*

I want your hands on me. 

This I know, that your square spatular palms 

mean more to my pilgrim skin 

than any meaningless litany. My flesh, 

burning, flickers in the sudden cold shock 

of pain. These hands, beautiful mystic brother,

are all that hold my shivering soul 

steady, against the pull of the void. 

They are a fire against darkness, 

Promethean and priestlike.

*

Offertorium. This is the part 

where the priest sings praise to Dionysos 

and leads the goat to death and Olympus. 

I bow my head and kiss the consecrated blade –

my blood crying for release. This is how 

the goat must feel, consenting to its sacrifice, 

willing, warm, liquid. 

Your shaft inside my body 

is a searing fire. It is burning and need, 

embodied, the sweetest pain 

that ever you could give.