The perfection of the bed and its pillowy cloud blankets. The light streaming through the window. The whole scene. The lazy Sunday morning. This lazy Sunday morning that the world is perfect and still as he holds me. My mind swirls and remembers all of the love we made, all of the love we shared. He is the one that takes me to church this Sunday morning.
His breath on the back of my neck.
His arms around me, circle of love.
Circle of life.
Wheel of completion.
The juicy deliciousness as I remember, as I feel it all. Open mouths, calling my name. Ecstasy. Wanting all of me. And taking it all because I give it to him, to us, as an offering. The masculine and feminine dance together, apart, back together. Intertwined, entangled, fading in and out of one another.
Finally I am understanding love. And the making of it. The shapes, the feels, the desires, the longing, the lusting, the wanting. The holding of each other, but even moreso, most importantly and before anything else can transpire; we hold all of the space in between for us to be our full real selves.
The richness that comes from it. The way that nothing is off limits. Nothing is hidden. It’s all exposed and all met with tenderness. Mercy. Observation without judgment. Understanding.
There are no secrets, no walls.
Mountain Pose Tadasana.
Fully one with ourselves, each other, the divine. You are yours and you are also mine.