A dear friend called me a slave to the night.
My dreams prepared for me a drink made of fear and desire. I drank it down and imagined myself
dying a thousand times in a thousand different ways that I may meet you again
and for the first time over and over.
I feel love and desperation so
strong in the morning. I beg for everything.
And at night I drift off and I
know you are there and I am coveting.
Can there be gender without
sexuality? All the days of
my life. What are we taught
and what grows inside of us? Soaking
the pages and traveling through conversations and that one particular pronoun
is repeated over and over. And
our beliefs are formed without effort.
My imaginings always include long
waves of black. What am I
ascribing to this wondrous everything? When
was the first time I truly felt you? But
this smile. It looks so much like her smile I must feel guilty about
that.
How desire that shame. And my eagerness for obedience. I want to live in service of the Queen? You
speak in words I do not understand and your voice is beautiful.
We live in a fallen world. And I want to turn to her. I want to be enveloped by grace and drown inside.
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