Smeared.

Layers of flesh dissolved by the hand of your words, painting me naked, until I have no skin.

Until the warble of my heart is no longer my own.

There is no such thing as alone.

A memory:

Guttural cry rumbling up from the depths of my belly, feet planted firmly on the earth, I see you, and I stand my ground.

The cold ocean splashes at my feet. They suction to the saturated sand, leaving prints that disappear over and over. Only the essence of contact remains.

Sometimes songs are that quiet on the outside.

Start right here, now. The texture on the top unfurling layer of your rhythmic heart is the first petal, utterly available. Generous.

Take a wiff. Touch it to your lips.

This is what happens when you sip the cup of full right to live.

Deeper, purer honesty, and words, you kiss me like you’re my last lover. I savor the flavor of you on my lips and wait for you on the hour to give you the best of me.

pour through me again. love, i have missed you. kiss me gently on the highest part of my cheek, where the skin is soft and sensitive to the way your lips press down, letting me know you feel the tender parts.

soften my spirit while preserving the strength to be bold in my caring, and fierce in my knowing.

I will take up space.

I will reach down into the cavernous inside and embrace the most precious parts with tender hands, peeling the petals back to show you little pieces of me that would otherwise remain a mystery.

I will take you in. I will feel you, rich and rippling inside me, where this love makes sense.

Dark. Deep in the secret compartment of the hidden drawer on the bottom floor where no one has gone, not even me, for a very long time.

I'd rather right the sunshine to replace the rain,

but the moisture is so natural and needed.

Waiting.

Waiting for a pulse. 

Springtime, I know you're there, though my body is still catching up to you.

My skin is aware of the light, while my soul has been stripped to bare bones. 

I must tap the well and drink - of the water that Feeds me.

Great unraveler, thank you for your grace. 

Your shapeless face removes my masks.

Everyone has their own kind of dignity. Sacred and profane on the same block, in the same museum, in the eyes of the same people. And we're all the same people - in the eyes.