My body is a temple. It is an impenetrable fortress of nature, a warm and welcoming hearth, where I break bread with friends and kin. I am home in my skin, guarded by forces I do not need to see nor name. Love surrounds me like armor, evil dissolves in my flame.

My heart is a perpetual fire. It is an altar where men sacrifice their lives for new skin. I hold safe the most profound of intimacies, the substance of desire, the divine spark of peace. When all else has failed, when all is consumed by war, I am what’s left, I am home.

My eyes are the door without a key, reminding men of forgotten realms and dreams. I see through masks and names, to the soul, and I do not look away. In my gaze, the veil of illusion is thin, luring the lost to wander to a world deep within.

My pleasure heals me. It is the meeting point of heaven and earth, spirit and flesh. My breasts begin the journey, and there is no rush to a destination. With each sigh of anticipation, I grow less heavy, less fixed, less worn. With every little death, I am reborn.