Letter October 09, 2015

Rain falls, soaking into the darkness of the earth, replenishing her wells, and an immemorial sigh rises to our lips, spills like a hushed prayer to an unknown god, making our flesh transparent to the floating mist, the breath of creation. This space we inhabit, osmotic bodies no longer called yours and mine, but passion-sealed veins and heartbeats, a skin inwardly fused, pulsating, continuous curves rising and falling into hills and valleys, rivers and springs. The topography of an ever shifting one, breaking, through tension and heartache, through laughter and shared breaths into the ever deepening mystery eternally birthing existence from the inside. We open to the mist and memory carries us into a past, a future, awakening in us the tremors of who we were, who we will forever be, passion embodied, the tangle of inseparable fingers, a poem surrendered in the house of love.

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