that hot air circulating through empty spaces between limbs,
licking sticky skin

that night air smell

golden skin and salty beads of sweat

you, a constant summertime year round

I think of us as planets.
We circle around each other’s orbits infinitely.
We are pulled into the same story with each incarnation,
but refined more purely with each succession.

I have not, and will not glimpse the presence of our Creator in any being as intensely as in you.

After those hours spent swallowed up by your eyes, I was afraid that I would wake in the morning, and it would all have been a dream.
In fact, I am still vaguely afraid.
Do not be a mirage.

I found myself in a bathroom. I couldn't tell which reality was real, and when I looked down at my hands, I noticed they were translucent and disappearing quickly.
I ventured further into the dream because it felt safe, and I sprang out into the backyard at home.

Everything was so technicolor, so hyperreal and fluid. I said to myself, this is what it would have been like if everything was perfect.

I did some gymnastics on the table and ran by the pond. It was all so vivid, and the ripples on the water’s surface were luminous. I ran inside, and said to my mother, “I want go to Japan,” and she said, “We're going soon, in one week.”

All of the creative work is...
meaningless unless it is made with you in mind.

I’ve seen you everywhere, in all of the small spaces
and large spaces alike.

A hologram
Everything located inside of you, loud and all at once

A dreamscape, a glowing reality
A breathtaking and gorgeous, dusty sunset
Golden shafts of sparkling light
Iridescent beetles floating in a pool of silver

I think I am in a dream.

Ripe flower, succulent
Sweet nectar of emotion flows, spills out into unseen depths

Glowing comet, irradiant
An eruption of brilliant, explosive stardust

I’d been forcing myself to assimilate in a place where I was fundamentally never going to fully belong—the cessation of assimilation came with a breath of freedom.

Each meaningful molecule.

And then my thoughts get too overwhelming and I have to stop—distract myself, even. I turn to play music, a song to cast a rope down into my long and lonely well of thought.