pilgrimage

Fallen at your feet, I move to mount you as a climber would, to climb you like a mountain. I grasp and claw, I dig in deep to flesh and bone, while offering my own for you to take — whatever it takes to keep me held safe and warm against your surface.

I plan the path up to your peak by way of your many shrines, at each intent to stop and worship. Our ceremonies are free of ruse and ritual, and new constellations form nightly above us with the same stars.

The love made in these moments exists so loudly it can’t be denied: it dances on our tongues and glues our eyes open until they water; it fills our hands and brushes against our skin until we melt. You are over, below and before me; the gap between need and want ever closes; and in this we find the simplest explanation of why we’re here.