I think of you and how much I don’t want to make love to you but yet share my every sensual breath, my form of it and then let it be yours.
After making love one withdraws, but all I want to make to you is an offering my other half krsna and lay at your feet my basket of treasures, trinkets and trash as an offering without explanation, preamble or prelude. And know that you shall do the same for me. Twameva mamma.
O rhythms of my being. And too many people have before and will after, among them I. An entwining, not a merging, not a thrusting, a togetherness beyond unions.
A rewriting of mythologies.
kalpaean 