The Tax On the Soul

It is said in ancient places
that you must honor me,
adore me,
the woman who has given birth
to you and to your children,
who has given her body
countless times
to bring you wisdom.

My tears are salty and warm
like the fluid of the womb
and given with no less pain
than that of the labor of this soul.
These tears find the honest
and a true path over a weary face
engaged in a lifetime of searching.

Imagine yourself in my body,
your face, your mouth, your tongue,
all ways of loving the flesh that wraps
the spirit so tightly,
finding the sweetness of the hive
like a bear waking in the warm snows
of spring.
You are more hungry than you know
and you have only to surrender to love
to be fed until bursting
with unimagined joy.

Love, you do not have to hide from me.
You have only to be your true self,
letting me take you in
from all possible perspectives.
I will stand in front of you,
having opened the door with the ring of keys
you have given me
over these many lifetimes of loving.
I will place my hands firmly on my hips
and demand the truth a of the universe
from your lips,
from your body—
the tax one soul pays
for ultimate joy.