Orgy

On my bed sleep poets and saints; 

volumes of hardbound madness. 

There's a little space left -  just enough to make love.

Won't you come, my lover, and partake in this orgy? 

We'll lie among sheets of silk and paper, 

we'll talk through the chaos of geniuses.

Rumi can watch how you kiss me

And you can be witness to my love for Hafiz

Let's lock fingers, as if in prayer

even as obscenities stream out of our mouths

Sex toys and rosary beads in our sweaty palms

lines between the profound and profane erased

Jalaluddin cries out for his lover divine 

like you for me and I, for Khwaja Shams-ud-Din

Follow the poet's lead, and let your hands pleasure me

Make my head spin in ecstasy, like a whirling dervish 

Listen to what Shams says, 

"Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly".

Drop the sweet talk and an aashiq's tehzeeb

and fuck me while the saint-poets look on and sing.