What is this yearning?

You will not find what you are looking for by tearing me open.

You could reach inside my flower petals and rip out the bones.

You could stick your head inside the carnage and drink the blood and still you would not find what I am made of.

You could thrust into me over and over and over and still not know why you have come knocking.

There is a door that doesn’t open to less than the purest devotion.

The knocking grows old like our souls.

Because this body is an echo of a deeper truth.

The shell that turns to dust of elements decomposed.

What you want cannot be bought or sold, spoken or told.

We tease each other home in the tides of hide and seek.

Human and divine playing inside time.

The breath the air that pulses this heart beat into the waters of the mother, grounded into matter.

I am not what you think you want.

I am the gateway to oblivion.

I am the lips drinking desert dust past neon lights and empty glasses.

I am the cresting of the ache for loves stamp inside your heart.

I am the dirty cackling desperation of the dead still breathing.

The surface pleasure of flesh meeting flesh is not enough.

I don’t want your flashlight peaking into the night.

I want the sun to penetrate me with light!

I want to feel your pillar the staff upon which I spiral.

I want to feel me dissolve in you and you in me so our heartbeats merge as one pulse, and we ride the drumbeat in our chests back from where we came.

Beyond human games.

This spine is the ladder to the divine spiraling inside the cavern of time.

Bonded by the blinded surface of love.

Shimmering so alluring, calling.

Melt below the line of mystery.

Let our minds shatter past words into new worlds.

Dimensions of being.

Sensuality being the mirror of believing.

Break the glass and see us burst through the bondage of cultures past, through the roles we have been cast.

Past the past until our original innocence is restored in the story lived not told given not sold.

You cannot buy this gold.

Burn it all away.

Burn away vanity.

Until all we are is the hum in humility.

There is only one thing to yearn for: humanity marrying divinity within We

Photography: Abe Kowitz

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