8

The stenciled silhouette of your body rests on
Canvas. I have yet to write on you, to trace the lines of your skin, the lines, the outlines, the contours.
I will trace you again,
I will touch the smoothness that is you,
Every still moment,
When there is a quiet solitude,
A solitude of becoming
Of growth,
Of love realized.
I will trace you and create you,
And you will be alive in the stillness,
Your voice reverberated from the depths of my
Body,
An echo alive,
I mark you with the scalpel that are my hands,
You mark me with the scalpels that are your feet,
Your hands, your voice, your awe.
Beauty, that is becoming
Love, that is becoming.
Growth, that is becoming.