My Love. II. Beginning

my love,

your beginning is full of the pungent taste of moss, and the consuming sting of salt, you become the glow of the moon that rides the mystery of birth from the foam of tides, to the whispers of the darkness that filled my lips before there was a desire for you.

i tumble to your darkness trailing the promise of stars, bound to the roots of rock and tree, i voyage to the unfolding of the one mystery of tide and blood. the ache of salt blinds my eyes, as the air of my hands grasps the raging sea of you,

my love,

in the crash of waves on stone and in the lick of flames in air, i lose myself in the musk of your origin, the voyage that is flesh falls into the agony and mist of your mystery that is the clash of earth and air, and i voyage to your unfolding as my hands travel the currents of your flesh tracings paths to the one mystery, as the soft dew of your desire rages the flame of beginnings,

and out of the darkness you arise gleaming from the curve of the world, stretching the blue horizon with the green of your eyes, and the world finds renewal as your tide devours the rocky shore,

and the sun streams down crusting salt on rocks and the world turns with the tug of tides and blood.