Why do you rush to gift these soft lips to another before you have painted your own skin
home?
You seek so much to feel the textures of body yet
your palms have no idea what your own
bends like under touch.
You search for music of another to fill so much
but you’ve never listened to the quiet of your heart in the mornings
songs of morning light,
survival hymns.
Dreams
of surrender in slow dance, pressing your body skin to skin
but do you dance alone, the moon within?
the hands that hold you solidly: your own?
Do you even know the stories of your breath,
the rhythm of what you’re being shown?
stories that demand to be known.
and can you hear your voice amongst the loud noises of so many others, demanding –
they don’t see beyond meat bone
the soul within bone
so withstanding.
fools.
Turn to yourself
life begins here
your rules.
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