Night writing

I’m awake again in the night, before dawn. Sea scent surrounds me. I’m sliding within, and riding upon, a snake or a serpent. My face grows into and is behind the face of the snake. Time happens twice, watches itself, echoes with child, gives suck. I am clothed in white, a shimmering powdery luminescence glows from my scales. My arms are by my sides, hands wrapped about me; I hold myself within the body of the snake. I swim in the snake, my whole body undulates, I’m a thick sea-muscle; fish-like, body encased, cool.
A green juice of snake serum moves like oil around me. I’m feeling the serpentine force, the slippery steminess of him between my legs; I’m pulling him in, I’m aware for the first time of how my organs work, I see them as they come now to a place of change: I feel them, I rejoice in them and their forces, their currents; their muscles, their smooth pink skin, their mouth, their lips, their saliva. The way they rise and fall, the way they connect me to the wild forces, the unstoppable forces of wild nature, untamed and untame-able.
I am become the pink lips of horses, nostrils round gulping air; I see bluish gums, hard and smooth, and their galloping legs, their huge lungs beneath me sucking air, expanding into the space of young trees; the landscape of rocks, the head of the seal dark and shiny emerging from the frothy swell; your fingers through my hair, the pads of your fingers pressing against my scalp, the thick weed of the gushing tide around our legs, the dreaming ones ahead of us when we become fish or swimming horses, tidal creatures. I feel your gaze across the days and months. It does not weaken.
The serpent stems are my plant lovers in my wakefulness: thick and pliant, stroking my back, tendrils waving all around me like my heavy hair. They are my desert companions. They grow from the same root as me. They share my store of water, my vat of food. We have a large rhizome at our feet, it is our home, our yolk, the source we tap. It is enough. All around us is desert, a vast flat empty landscape, no one else is here.
This is where I was born, and how I grew.