it is that thing which binds us into the world.
Lets us see blindness and obscurity and
how these are powerless to mystery.
We surf as slaves on a stream of her imagining.
She invites us to become the stream and the imagining and to become unto her.
Through softer streams of hair and rivulets of wounds,
tightly wound within and into one another,
a delicate tread.
Her mouth is open and receiving.
Are you suffering to love?
Or is she already moving through and for you?
Have you coped with the boundlessness of every desire
curved infinitely and washing through you,
an exquisite dream?