Love isn't something uncharted, to be rushed
That can be discarded or somehow flushed
How could it be?
Why would we?
If it's not a thing nor object at all?
If afterall
We objectively See
It's really "just" Us
Already arrived
Derived
From fullness of trust
The rush
Of our shared, interconnected relationship
Unknowing of fuss
Where each breath
Is the freedom of this Now's, birth and death
When each touch
Reveals the newness everywhere, of our Here
This isn't to minimize excitement to come
To say we need remain in that which doesn't reflect our sun
But to unveil
We Are the Light
Behind fear's veil
Our own delight
The passionate flow
Certainly not an object owned or to own
Not anything owed, that we need owe
And again, afterall
The only lack at all
Is in the sun, forgetting, not believing
It IS
Inherently
Perfectly
Of Love
The Daughter and Son
mike