Wrapped in each other time slows, and the arc of the Sky bends around us pulling day into night.
Stars spread out wide, full and vast… like the moments, as we breathe each other in.
Soul Dry
The dryness of my soul turns to dust and falls off of me.
I sweep it up and put it in an old wine bottle.
I watch my soul bits swirl and turn red with the drops left inside.
I am hopeful it will work like old Magick and lift the dead within.
It is worth a shot. The bottle once was the tincture to soothe my soul.
I peek inside with one eye. I smell it.
In desperation for signs of life, I tilt my ear down and listen.
I only hear the hollow of an old bottle, loud in its emptiness.
I carry the remains of my soul to the Garden.
I dig a hole with my hands and a stick.
Making a tube in the ground, I drop the bottle inside the Earth.
On my knees, I cover it with dirt and then water the soil with my tears.
Too tired to move, I lay down and watch the dirt move about my hands.
Laying there, I hear my heartbeat as it pulls my soul back into my body.
It is painful.
Heart Kiss
Take off your heaviness and leave it at the door with your shoes.
The World will wait.
Come with me and fall into our space.
Our laughter bouncing like light between us makes our moments together happy and pure.
Our hearts kiss, and we remember each other and how to love.
The Desperation of Breath
The desperation of breath is sharp.
It’s a knife stabbing the fleshy parts of me from the inside.
It hurts.
Breathing in, I ache. Breathing out, I bleed.
Longing for a hand to hold, I navigate my loneliness.
The weight of Life may crush me, and there is no one to hear me scream.
My breath is a desperate grip on the minimum of living. Its sharpness, painful and bloody, is what I focus on to make it through the day.
Mornings With You
I wake with Sunshine.
Your breath, next to me, low and steady.
I stretch slowly.
My body feels lazy and warm and aware of you.
With your beard burn fresh on my thighs and the smell of you all over me, I roll to face you.
And as your eyes open, I whisper, “more.”
In the Daylight
Smeared lipgloss and your beard on my neck and nipples
is how I long to spend my afternoon.
Punch
The sharpness of it not just cuts but surprises.
The gut punches that come out of nowhere, making my underarms tingle with stress sweat, and my heartbeat pound so fast I have to put my hand over my mouth to stop it from flying out of my throat.
The tears that stream, reacting to the pain, fall in big drops of stored salty liquid off my chin, pooling on my chest as the heat in my cheeks burns. The sobs are the only way the ache can escape.
My brain cracks, my soul goes dark, and my heart breaks.