Your energy is like a blanket heaved at me with no regard for timespace. It Caspers my head and even though I can see through the loose weave, everything is effervescent and golden. There’s no way to take off the blanket unless I trick myself into believing that it was there all along. In which case the gold is part of me and there’s nothing to feel awkward about. It’s silly how many fables your face appears in and how many meditative moments are absorbed by your beating heart in my hands. I’m too old for games now, maybe poetry too, but too scared to be direct. Still worried about sanctity and shit like that. Upsetting the unit and all. As I sit on my not sky blue cushion filled with buckwheat hulls, I clear my mind of passing prose and future lines. Yet the golden fizz still exists. Maybe the blanket image isn’t working anymore because it’s not a filter. This telepathy or dimensional bond could be (ha) something real. With those fuzzy threads reaching out to be unraveled. Maybe it’s my job to share from my open wound of a soul. About how you helped me realize that love goes far beyond any physical manifestation. And that even though my original vision for what human coming together could be failed miserably, you were there to help me through it. And here you are now just when I’ve redefined what it means to be a person on this planet with more delight to share than she knows what to do with. So why you keep showing up in my meditations appears simple. You’ve been there for my heart awakenings and wall breakings, and now it’s my turn to be there for you.
