She moves me. I don’t quite know what to do with these feelings. I try to feel them. Invite them into my gut rather than the mind. The mind wrapping concrete threads through their bones. The ones who touched me with their depths. And laughter. And clay painted skin.
She opened her home for us to gather. Offering an I.V. drip. And it courses through my blood, I know, but I left and so I am going through withdrawal. Withdrawing into static gray walls. Feeling hope and despair in the same blue glass bottle.
I left the blue bottle at her house. She’s everywhere. In the shells we released to the ocean the day before I left and the seeds we planted in the sand at the center of our feet’s rhythm. I let her down too. I betrayed her by allowing another to come between us and I cant go back and change it. I cant tuck these pieces of guilt into the hollow cells any longer.
I empty. And I empty. And the doors close through the corridors of night. My eyes adapt. I see cracks in the stone walls and light shining through. The shining ones. Radiant. Woman. She’s in my dreams. Reaching out in red and turquoise beads. I see her poetry tattooed between my veins. I feel the DMT flowing through my pineal gland showing me her forms of creation.
She is creator and calls out my ink. My blood. Offering to the earth her waters.
Spacious. At ease. Creator sharing bare feet to earth. I bow to her sacred feet. Her writing, drawing, dancing, drumming, climbing, singing, crying, playing, howling limbs. She swims with the whales and meets the eyes of owl at night. I dream with her beneath the waters. Touching one womb.