My lips remember the tender plane of your skin,
The slow traverse and turning.
From delicate eyelids, down across your nose to the meadow of freckles, to cheeks flush and lip-stained.

A gentle pressing at the corners of your mouth before the red and raw taking; the sweet and wanting.
May these phantom kisses haunt you.

And somewhere deep we all know patience is its own reward, isn't it..

All day and through the blue hours of night,
I pray to the one who made you; body and soul.

I ask God to invade your spirit
To show you Love and how much you're worth
On my knees I pray for the Lord to open your eyes

So you know..
This kind of love.. His and mine- are borne of light.

My love for you surpasses even my own understanding.
Just as God's Love does too.
I pray through the night that you, Angel, may know it too.

Tough and tender- where there is emptiness there is a capacity for grace.

A torrent of blood pooling over, rushing around mounds of bone.
Power in all the love carried by cells into the ocean of anatomy. Like the water, we take the shape of all. Free-flowing, surrendering to nothing. From the unconditional, the wonder and understanding, I will cross these streams and let the currents wash me away into love, love and more love.

Sometimes I wonder if this will be the cause of my demise. I cannot fathom such an incessant desire to see the good in all things; grant nations the benefit of doubt. I am blind to all but intent, intrinsic nature, and heart. I create euphemisms out of people.
-Indigo B