The Lesbian Hell in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

“Then, shameful sisterhood of earth’s disdain,
Your lips shall speak your hearts, and understand;
Your lovers shall assuage the amorous pain
With spiritual lips more keen and bland,
And ye shall take God’s hand.” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “My lips are fervent, as in prayer, Thy lips are parted, as to kiss: My hand is clenched upon the air, Thy hand’s soft touch, how sweet it is! The wind is amorous of the sea; The sea’s large limbs to its embrace Curl, and thy perfume curls round me, An incense on my eager face.”
  2. “They kiss the spiritual dead, they pass Like mists uprisen from the frosty moon, Like shadows fleeting in a seer’s glass, Beckoning, yearning, amorous of the noon When earth dreams on in swoon.”
  3. “We write of great writers, even of writers whose beauty would once have seemed an unholy beauty, with rapt sentences like those our fathers kept for the beatitudes and mysteries of the Church; and no matter what we believe with our lips, we believe with our hearts that beautiful things, as Browning said in his one prose essay that was not in verse, have ‘lain burningly on the Divine hand,’ and that when time has begun to wither, the Divine hand will fall heavily on bad taste and vulgarity.”
  4. “Let the ripe kisses of your thirsty throats And beating blossoms of your breath, and flowers Of swart illimitable hair that floats Vague and caressing, and the amorous powers Of your unceasing hours, The rich hot fragrance of your dewy skins, The eyes that yearn, the breasts that bleed, the thighs That cling and cluster to these infinite sins, Forget the earthlier pleasures of the prize, And raise diviner sighs; Cling to the white and bloody feet that hang, And drink the purple of a God’s pure side; With your wild hair assuage His deadliest pang, And on His broken bosom still abide His virginal white bride.”
  5. “Pale women sickening for some sister breast; Lone sisterhood of voiceless melancholy That wanders in this Hell, desiring rest From that desire that dwells forever free, Monstrous, a storm, a sea.”