Genesis

Before you, my body was as stone. Unyielding, cold, hard, lifeless.

Your touch did the impossible, softened the stone to clay, opened eyes to see you.

And with my mouth I use that breath to whisper words you need to hear, my lips close, grazing at the sense.

There was no before you. There was no time for before you, for you appeared as life began. 

Your smile begat curved lips, which begat the breath that now I take freely.

​And though I now have wings I choose to lie upon the earth where the air is heavy and to live is to feel.

With lips, and breath and smiles and touch I yield to the inescapable sense of life I have been given by those I hold dear. Even as they reach to pull me closer to the brink of existence, I fear no life can contain the sensation rippling through me - that I must perish or else transcend for there is no humanity left.

Only hot, hot clay thrown and moulded to desire and need, gasping for completion, eyes open, mouth curved in supplication, wings beating futilely upon the earth, trembling, trembling heat building to a roar that cannot be contained within a proper woman, cannot be contained within a woman - man - person, but all. The memory of a thigh glides across the memory of a mouth. Teeth grasp at the potential of a breast. Tongues meet and slip to necks to taste while nails graze skin to hold tight hold tight

and wait

wait

wait for all,

no,

none left behind and then

Life.

Before you, my mind was set, my dreams bland, unwilling.​

You gave of yourself to me, a piece of your stability, your clarity and wings with which to fly.​

And softer, softer still, I learn to yield, the rib you gave upturned toward the sky in sacrifice to your touch.