Process

The tingle in the end of your spine. The crawl through your skin. The bite marks on your neck. And the hands wrapped in your hair. This is sensation. You smell of lavender and chamomile leaves. Divinity in a strange vase, you remind me of memories never had. Yes like fantasies, delusions. I forget if I’m on my medications. I trust in your breathing. In your motions. Your emotions. I trust in your grandiosity. Miracles in the way you speak the English language. And even in your hesitance to speak in Spanish. I know that you are disciple. That you walk and talk, taste like blessings. I trust you believe in this process called love. For we have loved for years and maybe we will for more. I trust this more than breathing. more than living. More than reality.

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