Waking

Everyone is sleeping.

When she awoke, she could sense your second coming before she knew exactly what that meant.

It arrived to her in the form of a letter, which spoke nothing of the unfolding
and unfortunate timing of the crash-collision that would soon after commence. 

The first time was an ancient time, where you found out how to transcend time,
until the morning of the great void
that swallowed you into this existence.

You painted her naked sky in stars,
gas swirling, expanding, new light of collisions
shattering dust into matter of eternal birth and destruction.
She breathed you fractals of golden
songs searching, reaching, echos deeply
inside of idea fundaments of blossoming contemplations and manifestations.


This time was, as everything always is, accidental.
When you sang her song and the earth quaked inside of her,
she felt herself dive in and out
becoming and unbecoming again. 

It beckoned her, after subtle knocks and tiny interruptions,
to explore the corners of your contours,
before its proper time.

Propagating the seed of foreseen, creating the nexus of connection,
is a process which cannot be forced or coerced. The timing has to be perfect. Her investigations
and abrupt withdrawal resulted from remembering your great expansion of light and sound.
She was ready, trying to conceive you with nourishing words, approachings, and gazing lovingly-
the only gifts her earthly body could offer in attempts to awaken your ancient wisdom.

Are you still sleeping?

Can you both go back  now and transcend your time so that you might exist outside
of boundaries and calculations?

Perhaps the growing pain of a long-lost found connectioncut short-lived is the only relic that will remain of the first time
when you crashed into her
absorbing all of you.