I’ve made love to the whiteness again and again.
I now lay here,
willing the inkblots to flow from me,
yet the me is no longer familiar,
the words themselves feel rough,
leaving the safe haven of my mouth.
Intimacy begins here.
As the memories increase,
I see visions of
wrinkled sheets and
This humanness seems faintly foggy,
almost a stranger to this heart
of soaked through depth of lucid tears.
I lift a hand to my cheek to wipe away wetness
yet when palm reaches skin,
there is only smooth…
“Is there really pain or is that in my imagination?”
Happiness has come to visit me again.
I create how we play together each morning.
Today, we released the warmth from our skin
to become the sun embracing us
as the light peeked through the clouds.
We locked our arms together,
and as peace grew in our hearts,
we began to fly,
connecting with the birds in the sky.
My voice somehow created sound.
I heard my truth, yet in hearing,
I knew that it is impossible for me to explain the truth.
I know, you know,
that we are always creating how we play together…