Your Story Unfolds Within Mine

One faces the day with a thousand names fluttering through their skull like butterflies made of ice, like salt flecks of the sea when the ship is going down. As the moon settles beyond the hill, shadows lengthen across the yard, and the blue light long believed to compose us all begins to radiate from the trunks of trees and the breasts of passing crows. Accept no kiss upon which conditions are placed, implicitly or otherwise, and resist inclusion in another's spiritual drama. Afternoon darkens like the interior of each piece of wood I stack, and I dream of warm fires, and of undoing what one learns when they go a long time without her touch. Your story unfolds within mine as mine unfolds within another. It is turtles all the way down, cooing and whispering, while gold light and bales of hay scattered through the loft beg yet another prayer at the altar of sex. Our bodies are maps and the hands of those we desire are travelers discovering the limits of prodigality. Welcome love! Kneel if you must but remember chickadees make me joyful beyond words.