He came to me tonight as I lay in the arms of my lover, my partner. The soft flesh beneath my fingers became taut, lean muscle and I felt him there. The Jackal, the mighty, He Who Gives Air in the Coffin. He is the god who works, his well-muscled form one of labor than one of vanity. The Beautiful Guardian calls my attention, demands it as his due. It is time.
My fingers, long disused for writing the praises of my gods, dusty and ill-used begin to ache in the light of a swelling moon. The great orb above that alights shadows, long and stretching along the floor.
My tongue feels heavy, like a pool of moonlit water lay upon my tongue, pressing against my teeth. I feared if I opened my lips, it would dribble down like mercury upon my breast. As my mind rushes with his name, the ones that light upon the wind, I sit up, pull myself from my lovers arms, and open my computer to its glowing screen. It has been too long, a small voice whispers in my mind. You swore upon your tongue and your hands that you would do this when you were able.
And yes, I am able. He is just the first of many. I close my eyes and listen to the harsh arid winds that pummel me from nowhere. He has brought the desert with him in his wake. There is the taste of burnt gold, acrid and bitter, upon my tongue, the same sense I get whenever he is nearby, demanding attention.
Oh, praise be to the Strict Gatekeeper! Glory to the Lord of the Two Lands! I worship you of the Powerful Face! I submit to you, Lord of the Night! Dua Anubis, the Guardian and the Guide! The One Who is Secret, the One of the Dark Desert! He of the Swathed Moon! Lord of Silver Light and Desert Dune! Silent Laughter of the Desert!
I hear you, my messenger. I hear you, my guide. Bid to me that what you will and I shall honor you as best as my body and my mind is capable.