Isis, guide me.
I lie prostrate before you in fealty and love surrounded by the byssus tasselled sumptuary of your inner temple, willing a deeper connection to you when I have no right to ask for more favour than you have already bestowed. See me spread my wings before you, naked in earthly beauty, that you can pluck my feathers at your will. I am a creature of your bidding.
Oh, Isis, my fidelity is sorely tested. She has come. You know of whom I speak. She appeared amongst the pomp and frivolity of Cleopatra’s ceremony and I became the prey of serendipity. She has come and whispered honeyed magic into my ears so that my mind is dulled.
Is it you who sent her, you who guided her to me? For it is you who guide and love us always. Surely this is a sign of your love for me: that I am given this opportunity to spread my wings? And yet I smell death on the cuff of it. The opportunity is infidelity and wreaks of the underworld.
If this is the path you guide me to, I risk the hurt of fraudulent betrayal. Oh, but my heart takes flight for the chance to be seen on this earth with all my ugliness and imperfection and yet still be caressed with love’s feathered wings.
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