To Love a Priestess 2
She does not need to be entertained with gifts: A Priestess appreciates the beauty in matter but drinks of the divine, she shares the Nectar and Ambrosia with the Gods, she will never fall prey to the net of a mortal in exchange for gifts. She is the gift, she is the black pearl, the sapphire, not even the Orichalcum could pay for one of her caresses and yet she gives them away to her lover, she offers herself to her chosen one as a paradisiacal flower, of intoxicating perfume.
Mortal you that tasted the honey from her lips, you that burned with the fire of her womb... You that shared the bedroom of One chosen by the Gods, you who hugged her under the Sycamore. The Priestess does not love as a mere mortal. She is Astarte, Aphrodite, Turan, Parvati, Chuang Mu, Freya, Ziva is Inanna and is Hathor... She dyes her flesh the color of desire in Lupercalia, dances waving her Sistrum. She is the bridge between Mortal and Divine love.
She is the condemnation of the one who loses her favors, a curse that remains etched on the skin of the one who touches her, the soma of her beloved. Because she loves, even if she doesn't want to be completely yours, she loves you in her own way: Passionate, sometimes capricious, incomprehensible.
Take her hands and let her take you to the other side of the veil between her sheets, dream in her arms. Get away from her if you are not able to hold a star and stay if you saw the dragon that hides in her chest and still you are not afraid to burn.
Not just any man can say that loves a Priestess and a Priestess does not love just anyone but just as she loves, she also forgets...
Text: Fragment of The Invisible Sandals, by Ness Bosch