Tiny electric drops of wet prickling heat on skin.
A hum of power in the current of our blood.
Strength in your hands and claiming in your heart, you brace me for impending waves.
One, a surprise wave of passion surges. Your breath on my neck.
Two, a wave of Spirit begins the weaving of souls. Contract, expand.
Three, the places where seams have split are found, and the fear comes, and the grief, the ancient ache in my chest.
Four, I breathe deeply. You follow, and you hold me in the pain, brave at last.
Five, an inquiry, an answer. You show me the parts you've been hiding all your life, peel back your shirt, your armor, and reveal what's beneath your skin.
Six, you plead for it to be enough.
Seven, I see the splendor, and I call for more.
The waves subside, even in your eyes, your breath, your tide, to carry you in dreams of flying again, merging, remembrance.
You recall the future-past and take up your staff for steady feet and trembling bones as you quest for your very soul.
My heart dismounts into my fragile hands. I wait in still, cool water for you to call the waves again, to make it clean enough to mend.
I will see you then.
Copyright © 2021, Sheyorah Naify