I would call it a soft stirring, If I was convinced that is what it was.
This rising momentum of a flock of eagles out through my chest.
I would call it the gentle awakening of Love, if only my heart would quit the riddles.
I would call it the thunderstorm of all emotions, but all I recognized was a deeper madness that took me into the center of stillness.
Words could not weave together these dew-drops in my heart, so I could bead a necklace for you.
Nor could my steely grip clasp them, as they continued to trickle out of my heart on to my soft breasts, in the shadow of the moon.
This holy departure of everything that I can give…wild and strewn.
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