{poem + story} i write his name on the inside of my dress.

no symbol, no animal omen
his name is my whole body

red ribbons are too quick and tight to be undone
wild roses too will surrender
their frail bodies to the poseidon waters

stars turned in
and onto themselves

i give him my skin
and all pieces within

A little more:

As all else in life, there are two aspects of love: the masculine and the feminine. 

The masculine aspect of love is the sun, the fiery sword that becomes the action, seed, the word, the prayer – the penetrative power that initiates, that says, “I love you. I want you. I need you.”

The feminine aspect of love is the mystic, the healer, the pulling you in. She is a quietness, a listening, to the voice from a time before time beyond time. She is the moon, the darkness, the wetness. She is the yearning, the longing, the moist soil, the bottom of the wells, the wombed room, the cup to be filled, the tides pulling in towards herself, the desire, the dreaming. She is memory. She whispers in a voice only the soul of her beloved understands and she says, “I am waiting for you. I am longing for you. I desire only you.”

She is nature itself, the good mud, the fertile soil of earth. And he is the hands that dig in searching for her, without the expectation, and sometimes without even the hope, of ever finding her – but he digs in, searching, because he knows no other way than the need to find her and awaken his own self into the remembering. 

And so he digs in, with hands and skin of prayer. 

Until he finds you.

And then you’ll fall into his wise, soulful, loving eyes and arms, allowing yourself, without any doubt nor hesitation, to be stirred entirely by his wildish soul. 

Entirely.

Entirely. 

That’s how it’s always been. Soul kisses soul on the lips, and from two of love, a new soul is born: the soul of the relationship.

That’s how it’s always been.

Then. Now. Always.