We talk about time
as if it were a space
we travel through....
if I could just get across this space
this empty room that seems
so daunting but the wall
on the other side keeps
moving away from me
and even if I reached it, then what?

And sometimes the room is not empty
but filled with light, shadows, reflections,
things my own paintbrush has created,
childhood beasts that cause me to jump
or hide even though I vaguely remember
painting them myself.

If you have ever been my friend
and in that room we are still laughing
and joyful, or you have been
my enemy and I am still wrestling
with you there,
then please tell me
where you end
and I begin.

If I could
pinpoint the
exact moment
your breath
touched mine
washed me over
in ocean waves
sea creatures glowing
in delightful recognition
as the seedlings
of connection
shimmied into our being
and, dancing within me
in its own lifeforce
your mind a living,
breathing animal
your heart, purring
and whirring its sacred forces
into my molecular structures
your soul throbbing
in mitochondric pulsing
(oh what
a delicious vibration
of ribosomes)
Between us, we hold
the true treasures
close, in frothy
                       tenderness
a purity of the expanse
of our universe,
swathed in prismatic color
colors that shift,
these fresh hues
for which there are no name
they are lucid and fine-woven
as silk histories
yet deep as earthcore
your eyes, voice
are forever burned
into my own
every day scriptures
that rock my shattered parts
into wholeness
and,
like ancient magic,
I conjure forth
the holy gospel
rising from our bones
every second of
every minute
as our deepest fires
our most secret filth
our murky corners
our darkest hours
we weave into light
brilliant and lustrous
multi-layered in the richest
folds of the earth
and as you place me
upon the shores
of your garland-graced
                              throne
Now I'm alive in a new
kind of light
and
all I can do
is love
        and love
and love

The world can't find us.
It can't eat us, fight us. For we are not humans anymore.
Only our souls matter anyway, don't they? Only our actions, our deeds in the balance?

I'm scared sometimes, scared of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Scared of them. Scared of you. Mostly scared of you.

Because I can't love you even if you asked me too. I can't feel something even if it was the last thing I was supposed to do. I can't. For I am numb.

So I find her in the depths of your sorrows, and she heals you. She helps you. And I am not scared of you anymore. For I am free.

"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.

I asked myself
what is your biggest fear?
I heard myself reply
my biggest fear is
to be deeply known
but not loved deeply