Intimacy between two.
...the dance of harmony, grace, memory,
Openness, like a witness beckoning permission to engage -
... I lay down for you,
Vulnerable,
Naked,
Without expectation of inevitable occurrence - and you come: like a fierce tide, crashing against the walls of my space - sanctuary besieged.
My presence is a simple silhouette, as I strive to breathe into a rhythm that will ensue only by shared understanding...
- but will miss a beat without mutual pitch.
The soundtrack plays an immediate switch...
Starts soft and modest, acoustic, melodic,
I accept your touch,
Hands hot,
Circling around my lotus,
Beckoning it to blossom,
Welcome you into its wild, and ecstatic wisdom.
If I allow a union, will it be as such ?
Or instead an individualized experience- disassociated from oneness, moreover a solo-act; exploiting my temple as but an object to fulfill a selfish and primal agenda.
The sacredness of my space holds no externalized motive,
it beckons only to be honoured.
The motive of my heart, is to preserve its sanctity.
The sanctity of my body, is a well learned lesson.
Hard earned blessing from past betrayal.
Two years is a vast lifetime, by the measure of the heart.
...The healing brings down walls,
Yet the community remains gated.
grace is a quality, in intimacy, underrated.
Still the soundtrack becomes jazz - unpredictable and without a constant flow, no fusion to lend to your ears the intrinsic healing quality of sound.
My thoughts resonate : If your words mirrored your truth, your actions would align.
Possibility, persuasion and an unanswered promise-
though I said I knew your motives, my perspective was entwined;
by too much loneliness,
not enough emptiness...
& Maybe I was wrong,
Yet Still you were blessed,
In the pivotal moment -I looked up, my eyes told the story,
though you then moved away - the passion did not sway.
despite my lack of surprise,
It is quite doubtful you realized,
The opportunity was arise-
To integrate vs. consummate
Elevate vs. extricate, all the visceral products of your lust.
The moment; well, it could have been ascension.
instead the moment for me, another lesson, the moment for me, it was a weapon-
A warrior's chance to flip scripts.
A manifested vision to shift, all the patterns and habits and roles that saw my former self's virtue unfold-
Unto an absent will. The gift of me given unto to a spirit, ill.
It was Empowering to allow your touch but remain contained and sustained, be not an instant instrument for pleasure,
not a casualty for what could be,
nor product of my lust.
Restraint is a practice of the bodhisattva,
Its yield is the reward of self respect.
I'm alive without validation from the hand of another.
I survive, through the knowing that my will sustains its steadfast aim,
and though I slip sometimes in private,
an instance in the presence of another:
Reveals the keynote.
In the aftermath of a trial tryst,
I stand unwavering,
revirginized,
galvanized
and uncompromised.
I am no one's object,
Not an ideal,
Not a mystery to be solved,
Or a one-off conquest,
Or a dime a dozen climax on any random night.
I am pure and Uncharted terrain;
...only to be blazed by the warrior whose spirit defines, all the beauty i strive to be in finest moments.
-for D.
(But mostly, for me.)
sunday, august 4th, 2013. 1:22am
