Portals of touch
Through which my body
Is fluent
In succulent reverence
Been thinking a lot about portals lately. Aside from my sci-fi novella idea that involves a black hole discovery by a lady of the night that brings her to a parallel dimension of kink-time, a place where every erotic fantasy imagined can be fulfilled -- I've also been having ideas about touch portals.
....And how maybe touch is a *secret language* that opens portals of self-discovery...catapulting us into a parallel dimension where we are tender to our wounds and we lick them clean. We let our sorrow remind us how much we are capable of losing. And how loss reminds us of what we are capable of.
How maybe touch is a portal to new narratives, ones we enjoy being written into, ones that sound like creepy-cute poetry with creatures who speak to our truths in songs of purrs and howls.
And maybe how touch is a portal to ecstasy - the chemical blue prints that live under the skin, writing the stories of pleasure, awakened by the soft attention to its fleshy conduits.
Continue to speak the language of touch
And live for the moments that hold you tightly
In all your losses, deaths, and stories
That you may or may not mourn
May this holiday weekend remind you there is a better choice than the ones that perpetuate violence. Let this time remind you of the space you choose to keep inside and outside of yourself - find yourself in curiosity of the blueprints you are leaving your cultural lineage.
In whatever portal succumbs you, may the best be yours,
Elle