***, when rooted in love, is a balm, a healing touch across histories, across skin tones and scars, where every hue is holy.

Brown, Black, alabaster, gold, each body a temple, each kiss a prayer that says: You are worthy. You are whole.

In the rhythm of breath and belonging, we rewrite what was broken, we stitch joy into the seams of what the world tried to tear.

Love does not ask for proof of pigment, it opens, it listens, it holds. And in that holding, we become more than bodies, we become sanctuary.