Your travel has given me freedom.

But what is freedom when

you possess a soul divided?

What is the chronic sea without

its unfathomable dominions?

My soul is thirsty for you.

My cold and naked ankles mope

around your desolated castle;

Jinn, dust, and piercing silence is all that echoes

in this darkened dungeon that I have succumbed to.

And then there is me.

A heavy-laden wasted artist with

Spiny paintbrushes and faded color.

I refuse to leave the spaces that you read and play.

I refuse to exhale the memories of your sky painted blue irises.

My skin hungers for your delicate surface.

My teeth long to bite into your fleshy thighs.

In the hour of the noontide I feel you most

For our souls sahasrara blooms colorfully in the hour

Of the sun-the ancient mother of our roots weaves  

Love with all of loves children and meets us with pneumatic cosmic kisses.

This is when I feel closest to you.

Without you, the world is just as it seems;

the sun burned into cinders,

Leaving the crops belonging to the sacred

soils of my flesh to prune and wither .

Ay! the droughts that you spread with your distance.

These are the days of my reaping

These are the days of my sulking.

The gardens are now closed and the

black raven cries out to a mournful mothers son.

Your scent died along with the laughter of the flowers

And the butterflies wont even flutter

Without your lovely eyelash kisses.

To live another day without the energy

Your presence fills my heart with,

Is to live an eternity hugging

Your coffin with sobbing rage;

fain would I take deaths hand.

The suffering of your glorious dawn

Wedded the universe deep beneath my skin.

You are the light,

And the absence of your holiness

leaves me opaque and hollow.

In my solitude I have watched the hours burn

And in each hour your fragrant sighs

escape with the dust motes

Surrounding the beaming light that

breaks through the cracks of the curtains.

I sit in the depth of myself

And listen for the echoes of your sounds.

A mother am I and a pitiful one too.

Like the rawboned mother with sunken eyes

carrying a baby in the womb, draining all of

the nutrition her body has to offer,

Your distance maps a massacred trail

Of my health and happiness.

You are the mother of patience

And the descendent of beauty and love.

You are the tsunami, and the still waters.

You are the uprising cub leading and mending.

You are the sap that feeds the giving tree of life.

You are the prince of wisdom.

You are

My flesh

In purest form.

- Arizona