We love and rage in equal and monumental proportions. No half-steppin. Except when it comes to hidden truth.
Waves of opiates hit like oceans of pleasure and tsunamis of pain. Just when I can’t take any more, you tell me you’ve changed. And you did. For a while.
I want to believe my illusion. But …
You want to love many women just a little. I want to experience the depth of intimacy beyond human concepts of time, bodies and bliss. My pot is simmering. Stewing. Cosmic soul soup been steeped in wisdom and held in the center.
You keep serving up portions of my soup to the women you take naps with along your bohemian journey as the Gypsy King. Condoms missing from the night stand after that one time … where did they go? They used themselves? Now you live alone. No roommate to blame this time.
I don’t feel attractive. My inner sense of self has been crushed and destroyed. With your every love affair, fling and “just a friend” relationships.
Truth is, this has been our secret. You say you love me. I used to wish it were true. Love doesn’t need it’s light to be obstructed like this.
You tell me you want me. I know you do. I am delicious. I tend my temple of divine goddess embodiment like no other woman I know. My skin is soft like cocoa butter rose petals. I taste like jungle vines after new rain. My temple is always fresh. Warm. Inviting. Seduction in the way I walk, enchantment in my smile, love in the way I listen, look …
I definitely don’t want to put you down. You are glorious and I see you as God.
We all have neurotic addictions and ancestral distortions on our view of reality. We are here to elevate and see it all. Not to perpetuate the “sins of our mothers and fathers.” We are NOW. NEW. PRANAV.
Serendipity leads us to where we need to bee and to see what we need to see. Not always pleasant but guaranteed to be real. The obstruction to my view falls
down
and I see what I am to you.
Your beautiful, radiant object.
Never the only one.
Just the main one.
