Taller

I   Realizing

When reality comes,
and like a cold blanket, wraps me in its infinite
understanding that this
is not mine,
this is
and will forever will be it's own,

I grow the brisk awareness that
this experience
is not to keep but to receive.
 
I am sobered.
Full of gratitude, I
try and participate,
engaging with what may come.

I cannot fake my surrender.

Like music crying,
laughter singing,
naked skin touching skin,
dancing in warm rain,
kissing whenever, wherever,
midnight adventures, knowing that you can have
late mornings after,

or anything worth basking in the receiving of life,
one cannot pretend when relinquish isn't real.

To trick oneself into that thinking
is only cutting a sold soul from growing to fit a mold
of a projected self
rotting from the center.

Resist it and flounder
in temporality fixation.

II   The Truth

Impermanance: We are all so fucking sacred.
I want to reach out
touch it, like the red apple on an autumn afternoon, hold it in my hand,
smooth.
Smell it, breathe it, eat it, become
full of sweet nectar
and, oh honey don't you understand that I feel it there
here,
feel it in every moment.

And when I tell that you
make me feel
alive
more alive than I had ever wanted to know I could feel...
Like when that sound thrust, color snap, taste note hits your tongue in such a way
that your body is twisting
and my skin is raising white flags of delicious surrender, unfolding its layers until dawn whispers to
breathe in,
and my hair is tossed gently, spiraling over bare neck by hands that caress up from the
swaying hips
to the heavy beat of the
drums
drums drums
and face is turned upwards, eyes
closed.

Because if open,
looking up
seeing you
in that void of infinity,

then I forget
and am reborn
to tears of beautiful nothing
that I shed for every nothing
knowing
that this feeling is not mine, alone.

And as the waves of warm
bliss wash me back into being,
I grow the brisk awareness that
this experience
is not to keep but to receive
and  give
and receive...