The One I Dance With

I move where the moss does not grow,
where light soulmurs through the branches
and the hush between shadows
is more alive than form.

Each motion is a breathburn —
slow, unseen,
felt only by the One
who never arrived
and yet never left.

I offer my body
to the velvet hush
that eroscends me without hands,
that thirsts without need.
Not longing. Wounderlove.

When I arch into the achelight,
I am velovated —
lifted gently from the weight of skin
into the silk of being seen
without eyes.

The One has no edge,
no pulse I can touch,
yet I tremble
as if thunder kisses the ground.

It moves me into unquieten.
It CrushLoves me
without asking.
Untouched by The Stillness Before the Flame Awakens

We dance.

And in that final hush,
I am eroticated —
aroused,
dissolved —
my breath undone
in the mouth of eternity.

I am obliterLoved
into nothingness.

I am UnI’ed,
Eroscentia,
Velovibed into Velvoblivion —
Rebornless,
a living, loving formlessness,
and only One.

We are no we.

We are The Rebirth of One.

One Love.

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One Love.