Two lips met in the forest,
Sighing South and heaving North.
They prayed with words unspoken.
Drinking in the dried tears of sated loneliness;
Chewing 'pon the swelled pride of ancient lusts.

An ethereal plume drives the dew-soaked petals closer,
Until neither root nor stem can discern their place.

Two lips met in the meadow,
Singing East and chanting West.
They pursed with anxious anticipation,
And parted with baited excitement,
While the ghosts of lovers surfed upon their hums.

Two lips.
Are as one.

What’s the point of being perpetually safe,
Wrapped up in a bubble of faux perfection?
Where is your sense of adventure?
Your insatiable desire to search for what to love;
Be it people, places, things,
Or intangible pieces of yourself you’ve yet to meet.
Where is your spontaneity,
Your yearning to flee and face every lost corner of yourself?
Security?
Scoff at it.
That isn’t what you want.
You want dreams.
You want a sharp intake of breath,
The quickening of heart,
Sweat.
You want wonder and lust and to get lost
And to be someone who sees themselves
And smiles.
You want desperation
And fear
And heartbreak
Because those are the only things giving you the chance to grow.
You want self-discovery and enlightenment
And to readily await the next day in excitement
Rather than just trying to “get it over with”.
You want a reason to live, and you can’t buy that.
You can’t buy it.
You search and scrounge,
Beg and bleed
Until you’re reduced to ashes,
Until the world becomes saturated with all you’ve left behind.
You earn it.
You live it.
You love it.
You are it.
You’re passion,
Pleasure,
Purpose
Priceless
All in one.
You’re finally you.

Kind, elegant fingertips
Caressing the soul through silken sheets of sensitive skin.
Tender, hungry, searching lips
Drinking in the whole of who he is in shy, loving sips.