I long for the presence of warm treacle.
Nourished by the land and graceful in its honour.
Allow me entry to an underbelly unguarded so that I may sow the seeds of new terrain.
With trees that lean gently, built solid with sap.
And moss at our feet, cushions like clouds, floating and firm.
Unstuck I am, tranced by the depth of your engagement.
My forever love, in this garden of moss and leaves.
As molten syrup fragments into crystals and patterns of awe.
I am reminded of the beauty of your incarnation.
The very flames of upheaval bringing clarity to your sweetness so that I may burn fully by your side.