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♥