I had her up the wall.
In the moment before we truly embraced, she stripped me down.
Her eyes saw me, and I crumbled for a moment.
She dissolved every lie I was wearing and through her staring she uncovered the lost child that was waiting to come out.
She did not flinch.
Her care was evident as her heart switched tunes to match mine.
We opened ourselves into one another’s eternity and became deaf to what the noise was saying.
It was not long before we were undressed. It happened even before we took our clothes off.
It happened the moment we saw what was underneath the skin.
I began to wear a new smile, and she stopped worrying about the sound of her song.
She simply sang, you could even hear her in the silence. Her muse became the music of her aura. The air around her forgave her absence
Heaven dipped down and kissed the earth that day with star light
We were reborn in the wake of love.
This is not (simply) a love story.
It’s a death with no funeral.
She murdered me, and I smiled.
The sheets we lay upon were soft.
But her skin is softer.
Her taste knows no limits.
She has all my favourite flavours.
Layer after layer I get to know this life through her eyes.
The gift of true vision is to see beauty from the eyes of another.
For too long I looked upon the world from such a simple place.
Now I see with 7 billion eyes.
When the door of love is opened to one, the one leads to the all.
Love is the rainbow bridge.
These moments are not lasting.
So we forgive mistakes and raise the stakes of what we are willing to do.
It’s all apart of living on the edge of possibility.
It took till now to know I’d been waiting my whole life for this moment.
When you find that piece, the puzzle makes sense.
Gentle compassion is a natural virtue to arise when the trial is over.
There is no truth I would not tell. And holding onto them would bring me to hell. For we are but tenders of a sacred fire. The fuel of love is nothing other than truth.
All else is masturbation.
So then, since this day of becoming, has life turns out my way?
Has fortune come and the sick become healed?
Death still lives near my home.
We visit her every so often with flowers. A small gift to bear.
Flowers are sure to die when they are plucked and put in a vase.
Yet, they are beautiful in brevity. A reminder that love in this arrangement is no permanent stay.