The body is a portal.
Your hair is a web. Your eyes are wells. Your neck is a ravine. Your kneecaps are space shuttles. You are lovelier each day and it continues to defeat me. You are my container and my restlessness. You are why I wait and why I can’t. You are the moment, the immediate, the right now. Also the pause before and sigh after.
The marvel, the complexity, the immensity of you conquers and overwhelms even the most mundane chore. For instance, the act of washing my hands is now your territory. Running fingers through my own hair falls, apparently, under your purview. Did you know?
Sitting alone and watching the sun dance with leaves is a moment that asks for you to be present; my solitary happiness. My happiness is a hatching egg beneath my breast. My happiness is a slow dawn. My happiness is the beep of your message in the dead of night
I would unbraid your plait. Undo your ribbons, unclasp your buckles, pull apart your strings. I would unhook your bodice and loosen your hair. In your undress, in your vulnerability, you are my greatest ruin.
I am the black to your white. The dusk to your dawn, the wet to your dry, the heat to your coolness, the outside of your inside, the physical of your spiritual, the earth of your space, the roots, the mud, the soil of your sky.
I will show you your other side if you will show me mine.