Covered with your arms,
I feel your pulses-
One of your heart, one of your soul.
As they rush through you
I too am filled.

Safety, warmth,
A vise grip, but without pain.
Tightly wound, but never tense.

In fact, melted
A molten creation
In which we are just are.

That is not blood in our veins
But the ichor of the gods.
You are my ambrosia
And as I devour you
I will be strong forever.