She created the earth, then entered your body as this breath.
Therefor savor her undulation, from the azure pearl adorning the emptiness above your crown, to the coral flame devouring pungent boughs in your valley of yearning.
What is an exhalation? A trellis for surrender, the ever-expanding muteness of your gratitude.
Give up searching for a word. Bewilderment is not uncertainty. Wonder is not a question.
What will blossom from your grief is a sweetness with no hint of Winter or Spring, steel tears of daylight, or musk of voluptuous just-forgotten dreams.
The flavor of One cannot convey the perfume of her presence. The scent of Two overpowers it.
The name on the bottle was Catastrophe, but it cannot be purchased now. You have broken it, and bathed in the tincture of loss.
Don't you know that your silence is hers, the womb of stars, the hollow in every seed?
No Question
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