Between the rising and the falling of your chest is the portal to a marvelous world composed of nothing but fragrance and the music of dying.
The furrow between your nipples was harrowed by this breath; the blossom of earth and heaven's marriage kiss grows there.
Why do you think Gods and Goddesses descend in pairs?
To heat themselves in little quarrels and tiffs, spinning their downy essence toward two-ness, then embracing to dissolve.
The air around your face is a quantum field of whispers that suddenly crystallizes; you quit you work and look up, wondering why your mind stopped.
These visitations come so that your soul and body might remember their long betrothal, and their lifetimes of courtship.
Now you can boldly advance in the art of love toward that ecstatic union where pollen rains from the midnight sky, inebriating your tomb with star-melt.
Deeper than sadness, deeper than sin, the state that you have fallen in...
It is not you who awaken, but every seed in the garden you so joyfully abandoned for the sake of divine hopelessness.