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Show me where it hurts.
Tell me your aches and pains
Lead me to where the shame pools up
in secret corners and soft folds of your body
To where the bitterness stagnates in your vessel
I want to know where you’re raw.
To rest my warm hands where you throb
Steady...
Steady.
Let your aching body soften in my arms
Sink deep into the balm of my embrace
Exhale the breath that you’ve been gripping for so long and
Give
Me
Your
Weight
Slowly
I’ll press my skin upon your skin
and caress your wounds so gently that
perhaps
your timid joy may be coaxed to the surface once again.
I will not tell your body what to do
I will bear witness
Will trace the topography of your pain with reverence
Will place my kisses so softly that
perhaps
even just for this moment
occupying your body feels
Okay.
Even, just for this moment, you may rest easy.
For this moment, your vessel is no longer a burden.
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How do I become gentle
with passion and vigor?
How will the light flash off my frame when I am unrelenting and ferocious
with tenderness?
Is this the clearing beyond a forest I must journey through,
or a forest floor I must sink my roots into?
Is it the distinct way the sunlight gleams through the treetops
onto me and the dirt? The pattern of warm illumination
my skin remembers
in the cool of night?
Or is it the way my body remembers
the canopy-shaped shadows when I am once again in the full heat of day?
I want to scream and howl and sweat as I tear away at the dirt
with love.
Ripping it away from its bed and turning it over within itself.
Feeling the burn of effort and the salty smell of earth.
All of this making room for the first breaths of a flower.
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I kneel at your throne of
leather and bone
Your grasshopper wings
make prisms on the walls
Fingers uncurl, leaves and
dirt in their creases
Your breath makes the sound
of the Earth when it’s silent
Why is your hair always damp?
The throne is so heavy though
it carries your weight.
The wind seems to pick at your scabs
I wish you could see how beautiful you look
in the rain.