Her feet smelled of saffron rice

and her palms, of sweet incense and thyme.

Every inch of her flesh was a tea ceremony,

a sacrament

to intention.

Within her chest she held a tenderness of living breath,

and her toes, the dust of unsettled earth.

I expanded with giving,

my soul open to light,

my breath honored, knees humble.

Between the blades of a heavy hearted back,

And the bones of a heavy handed soul,

I felt the radiance of lasting softness,

laying in stillness

as “here” swelled itself open.

Hands full of flesh and given nothing more than

the gentle ease of a currency with no value

but that which she carries on the bus

between vacancy signs and milky starlight,

I danced like one would without legs–

sideways and

entirely undone.