bodies:

because i've only know disillusion and distance, every emotion i've had tied to the heart center has been feeble.  i've only know brutality of desire, never known it's sublime mother.  my lust has fangs and it's been artificial, a honey luster fatalistic candy.  i've written of love with allusion to hate.  my hate is powerful, it is desire.  i would look into the eyes of those i want to consume, only to find them weak-morbid-brothels.  they were sin unfit for any divine intention, just pure mental masturbation.  but every virgin lover meets her serendipitous sacred other.   every woman will find her pleasure center, and it will be holy.   love has answers.  unlike lust, she is delicate, beautiful, and carries the life force.  lust is the bastard sister of love, the betrayed slut. she has eyes that burn with rage.  she is passion that eats you up.   desire and passion have transformative figures,  they are ever evolving truth seekers.  their cold minds can turn soft and fair, unveiled in moments of time.  love that is pure intention seeks no other way.  it is the ultimate unification.  the self is selfless; it is immersed in the pure thought of divine unity.  

i was once a little girl, gazing curiously at an expansive sky.  my heart was pure and warm.  i feel that child in me, alive again.  she is gentle, observant, and has a mindful of stars.  as i stare intimately at the fixtures in this room, i see our bodies engaged in the thought of massive transformation.  i believe in nothing and all, at once, there is living dreams in what we feel.  i am an emotion body floating effortlessly in this dream.  you are standing, a sacred vestal, my love remembers you.  you were the gentle, beautiful, goddess that was dreaming this moment.  you made me alive again.