Where Love Reaches the One

In the dark night
of the forest,
I sit naked
by the fire.

Flames flicker like breath,
soft, ancient,
cracking open the silence
between trees.

The stars lean close.
Owls do not speak,
but they know.

This is the temple
without walls,
where shadows dance
and the wind caress my body.

Here,
love is not a reaching,
but a returning.
A falling in,
a letting go.

The body warms
in the glow,
but something deeper burns,
a remembering
older than form.

I watch the embers
rise,
each spark
a whisper
of all I thought I was
burning away.

I show you
my naked body,
not to claim,
but to stir the quiet
flame in you.

The wind finds me,
each breath a whisper
of ancient knowing.
Skin sings when kissed
by open air.

I dwell in beauty
not owned,
but borrowed,
a tender vessel
on loan from stars
and soil.

I bare myself
to awaken
your wonder,
to beckon the seeker
in your blood.

Come,
feel the river beneath form,
the pulse before thought,
the quiet blaze
of life creating
life.

Let your gaze be curious,
not conquering.
Let your longing be a prayer
to the sacred ache
we all share.

This body
this moment
this breath,
a doorway
to everything.

From the root,
where longing coils
like a serpent in dream,
the heat rises.

Sexual energy,
not shameful,
not selfish,
but the first language
of the cosmos
speaking through flesh.

I do not push it away.
I invite it in,
breathe it upward,
through the wild garden
of the body.

Pleasure becomes prayer.
Desire becomes discipline.
Fire refines itself
into golden light.

What was once
a hunger for touch
becomes
a reaching inward,
toward the formless lover
within.

Spirit and body
are not two.
They kiss,
merge,
disappear.

A silence.
Not absence,
but the fullness
of no one left
to desire

Only the dance
remains.
Unfolding.
Effortless.
Now.

One Love