Time’s long fingers have worshiped
Round the gentle spot

Where you sit in my mind…so

Still.

Grounded vibrancy of ethereal compassion.

Striating. Colors…of sweet earth, you are.

Aromatic deliciousness thickens as you sit at my thought

Table.

Honey softening my world.
Feeding me
…with time’s long fingers.

It is the absence of air - of space.
A twoness made out of oneness, that slowly becomes oneness again.

It is fire.
The light graze of HEAT along the edges of your suddenly tight knuckles. Every pore in your body falls in love in a vivid blur of life.
It's all-encompassing, like how the lazy sunset spreads and pools its searching golden fingers across every living thing, clinging to the earth.

It is a lazy ripple striating across the surface.
The stress leaving your body in waves as they rub your shoulder. It's an intense, firm awareness of every atom in your being, every breath and shift of your limbs a story waiting to be told.
It's a prison and a release when they hold your hand for the first time.

It's earthy comfort and flickering excitement. Heavy heat and grounding warmth. Lightning nerves turn to steady assurance.

Safety.
Vulnerability.
Contact.
Presence.

That's an ecstasy
they don't come
often
I thought as
waves washed over
waves and I was
me waving
like a light
striating on ice cream
tasting through my backbone
cleaving sweetness