I have been worshiping liminal deities
winter into spring into long days of warm wind on my bare skin
I open my my heart and arms embrace me and I am there in it
****
Last night a women at my work flipped me the bird. I wanted to punch her in the throat. Then I realized she's hurting. I am in love with her former lover; he and I are doing a thing quietly and boldly in doors, under blankets and stars, in the streets, hands slipped and fingers twined.
He takes a few moments to speak and this sharp contrast of lives (then, now; him, him; me, alive, awake, alert, adroit) causes my breath to catch, my heart to skip.
Arms pull me in and close and down and wrap all of me in a pause that is so necessary when I feel so much that I lose traction within my skin. Stillness, warmth of skin and cool fingers, and secrets shared under the bedsheets: I am comfortable.
This girl, the bird flipper, my ex, the throat grabber, from a safe distance I am aware of them, how the helped shape me, form me, allow me the opportunity for this incredible and perfect now.
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