sacred

dear Friend, I told you if I ever had the chance to hold your sexuality, if that was something you ever handed to me, I would hold it with so much tenderness.  It would be a thrill of my life, to be trusted with such a sacred, exquisite thing, to love so honestly.

I think of your sexuality as a golden ear of corn, glowing with beauty.  The corn has golden seeds that could nourish, heal, and save a whole town.

So heavy and real, for an imagined ear of corn.  Maybe that’s a weird idea, but I love how you inspire weird ideas.  You inspire newness, a new Nest, and I love this lady I am, when I’m talking to you.

dream

The dream I had about you felt so accurate, the chaos of how you kept leaving the group.  Then we would be about to move along, and I’d advocate for you, trying to keep you included and close.  The chaos you bring does comfort me.

I left out the kissing, when you asked me what happened, and I told you my dream.  The kissing was a little indirect, which felt accurate also.  It was not straightforward and complete, adult, we have decided to do this kissing.  It was more “maybe we’re going to kiss now–I guess we’re kind of kissing.”  Your lips touched mine off center, and I was shocked at how soft they were.

Then a mutual acquaintance from a project we share was sitting on a porch reading a newspaper, and I realized he had seen us kissing.  He was judging us, angry, and I didn’t know how to convince him that everything was ok.

suffused

My desire for you is part of our friendship.  The desire is sexual, playful, and suffused with love.  It’s a pleasure in itself, even if it’s never consummated.  You seem amused and happy about it.  You seem to want me too, but I don’t understand how.

Last summer you said you didn’t want a sexual relationship with me, but a lot has changed since then.  I thought about doing a ritual asking Mother God to cure me of my sexual longing for you.  But I told you in a txt that it seems unfair to ask the sexual part to leave, because it seems to belong.

It’s like a baby who’s doing no harm, so why should I throw it out with its bathwater.  Or the one wisdom tooth that grew in right, so I didn’t get it extracted.  Maybe there’s a reason it should stay.

flower

The way your sexuality was hidden from me for a long time felt like slight of hand.  You kept it confusingly tucked up your sleeve.

Or it was something I could smell, a powerfully delicious flower perfume enticing me to a magic garden, but the sacred flower was invisible.  Looking around, I saw nothing but pineapple plants, a cache of huge spiders, a graffitied wall, and a special sculpture.

I was like–oh, no sacred flower here.  I must have imagined it.  But the smell was the most intoxicating scent I had ever smelled, and I couldn’t forget.

mystery

I enjoy the mystery.  You feel however you feel.  I have a fuckton of respect for you, and all you have going–housing, money hustles, relationships, recovery, your health, your family.  Prayers, choices, jokes.

I hope you will come here and we can learn about being embodied together.  Maybe I can kiss your hands, touch your sacred hair, and love you the way I’ve been loving you in my heart since the beginning.

That photo of you on the couch, I was overwhelmed to imagine being there with you, your hands on my naked back, your mouth on my naked breasts.  My cunt is so willing to slip you inside of it.  I’m made of the ache of willingness.

The ritual we performed destroyed any holding back I still felt.  I’m dazzled, charmed, and fully dipped in the golden honey.  Thank you for accepting me.

Nest