Our fingertips drew glyphs
on one another’s backs:
Spiraling Venus’ hand mirror,
my girlfriends and me, in the dark
at church camp, tracing the shield
and spear of Mars.
One girl lay on the floor, the others
gathered round chanting—
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
And with two fingers each placed beneath
her body, we levitated her higher and higher,
offering our passages—
before we felt the weight of men, when our bodies
were made of air, when girl-flesh tickled
without shame,
when we lifted our girlfriend up—all breast buds
and knobby-kneed, raising her toward
the Divine.