this love is like sickness that lingers

and like the sun that warms

it follows

in the moments I find my lips perched on the edge of the cliff

as if it were a point of transition into another world

and it is, another

world for something else

and yet, this love, is right

it is without substance

but faith is substance

is there nothing else but faith that drives this love

and yet the sentiment of home

as love sits at the foot of my sacred space

and kisses my forehead

lingers and lingers

and it resurfaces at the gates of this other world

I look through them not seeing the sentiment

I see many other things at these gates

I open and begin to enter

I feel the breeze, the abundance

I let it take me over

this curious, enticement

and yet, the sentiment of home remains absent

is love not home

does love not have its home in our souls

in our bodies, in every cell

they are one and the same

and yet as this new world reaches for my body

as it conquers all of its territories

it still has not made it home

where does one find home in conquest

it only becomes so once it has explored,

gently molded with one’s touch

until it loses the sense of conquest, sheds its skin

and becomes a sacred space,

familiar, reverence without monotony

protected and cared for, as it sits at the foot of it

and sometimes, conquest was out of reach

many times

and achieved and repeated many times

and in the repetition of yay and nay

the love become home

and so as my lips are perched on the edge of the cliff

deciding to let in the fall,

or not

it is home that comes to mind, body and soul

SuzyQ, Q♥