Being born again
is not such a difficult thing.
You need only die slowly
to all that you know
and to all
that you cannot carry
any longer.
Then you return
like a clear day in Spring
to be the blush
upon Her cheek,
the grace of Her eyebrow,
the dew of Her speech.
You become Her work.
Her poetry,
Her hands and feet.
Simply breathing
becomes an erotic dance,
a prayer between your left side
and your right.
You run inwards
seeking this body of love
you inhabit
but all you find
is more
of Her soul.
