You know who you are, my Friend. You are my abundance. Down-pouring, your gold overflows me. You are the praise-song the Goddess sings to my sleeping heart. You are the succulent juice of my own spine, dancing like a liquid serpent. You are the Beauty of my own consciousness, embodied and embodied and embodied.
I share my longing with the universe, and my longing returns as You. Shattering your crown, You become the grass growing under my toes. I feel the dew of your humility. Yet I out-bow You: I become nothing!
Which one of us started this madness? Who asked who for the first dance? I will have the last. Let there be no confession, no delay or demureness of gaze. You know who you are, my Friend. Don't be shy.
As soon as we whispered, "come home," we were inside each other. Now we are possible unfoldings, fragrances of bewilderment in a single seed.
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