Feel the warmth of your body
follow its sensations and
it will take you to the beating
of hearts that pulsate only
to the tune of dancing doves
and double rainbows
away from the calculations
of what is possible.
We do not fall in love with numbers
That count our tears, we cannot make
love to the zero’s and one’s and the
Yes’s and No’s.
Facts are lies.
Love lives
in myth
and mystery.
Our skin, the third lung
needs to be touched, caressed,
So our soft whispers of longing can
reach across the oceans of solitude.
When our ancestors read our palms
They knew that love had
wiggled its way into our lives
without leaving a trace, so they
had to search, find meaning in
trees that did not move in storms,
floods, and wildfires.
They knew that love jumped off
the edge of our palms,
so they turned to
the stars,
read every sparkle and glitter,
built rafts that broke,
built canoes that split in half,
and still they kept on
searching.
The brightness of the moon,
was enough so the
soul calmed down,
made love to the waves
of uncertainty, that led
to another tree and yet
another mystery.
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