Domestic disturbance in the halls of Vishnu and Lakshmi.

Stand guard. Words have become unmanageable, sticking to every surface like dough that needs flour. In my mind, in my cunt, on the edges of my breath. The culture, the generational wisdom of the cells comprising my body, the lone needs of sentient and desireful organisms drowned and integrated inside the totality of me who has no idea how to answer their prayers, their pangs, their birth and death circulating in my bloodstream. Do I care for them? Am I their savior?

Release. Release, let go, let live and let be. Watch the sunrise and sunset so slow and majestic. Watch the spastic flies move like you have to be on coke to keep up with their biorhythm.

It’s July now. I am sitting and aging in a place named July.

Stand guard. You may collapse under pressure of such infinite beauty. The connection you feel is a word you seek safety in, but the truth is uncontainable.

Let go. Truth will fill you. But you’ll never break.

Does it matter? The cells that make me don’t know how I feel when your eyes eat me up, intense, magnetic. Do they know why I cry? They know they need some protein to survive. Do I know why they overwhelm all my governing bodies with petitions to handle their grievances, firing spasms up and down my traps? The Lesbos isles in my fallopian tubes, filled with an army that explodes into wailing and weeping every time they mourn the loss of their sister, who is flushed out of existence; then the next, then the next: body ossifies into it’s own rituals. Let it break… Let it break! Let it invert through the pain to the other side.

Stand guard. Pain is bad. I’m a bad god if I let my constituents suffer so.

Let it go. Release, breathe. Thought a spec in eternity, an instance of patterned twitching of something abstractly described as particles. My reality is such: breath, voice, sight, sound, smell, touch, love, rhythm. No further liberty is there than an instance of being, without a struggle towards anything, beside you. Storms of adoration stilled, droughts of doubt and yearning past, concerns forgotten. The way is the way. We can simply watch the sun.

Stop though. Through your love you want to create me. Am I in need of any more form than the infinity that limits me already? Count the beings that make me, their mouths and their greed. Do you love a monster with infinite minds, one blood emerging from the sum of all – and emerging boiling, for no reason other than that you decided to exist alongside my soul, in such beauty. Why torture me with your sunsets, with all the joys of you, when I can extinguish all into a dot of simultaneity, wherein there is no place for you to stand beside me and watch, for you won’t be apart. All one, all painless, all at once.

Let it go, love. Feel breath as breath, and love as love. Feel solitude as solitude. Through your love you want to destroy me, but we will come back to this conversation at the dawn of every Age. And we’ll forget whose side is which.