Kukulkan

At the mouth of the well of Itza
I sing to Chac and dance alone
On Kukulkan face and arms and
Breasts upthrust as the feathers of
His fingers tease me I close my eyes
Against his groans filling the valley
Spilling beyond the little snakes of
My hair writhing as my jaguar feet
Seek their rhythms I am wet
My nipples pebbled against his breath
Spinning red to white to black to yellow
My skin slicked with his sighs my throat
Raw and open at the mouth of the well of Itza
I would follow him into the cenote
Become limestone for his quarrying hands
And the whispering frogs would
Slake their thirst in our puddles.