In the art of stepping back
The Ocean has mine
As the molecules of her plasma permeate their essence into my pores
My hypothalamus sighs a deep breath
as my inner seasaw finds its stasis
Equilibrium
“I” cannot pinpoint the reasons why
Outside of her I speculate
Inside of her I’m only on meditate
I am detached
Dead space at the bottom
My face loses expression and the heaviness of my beating heart celebrates existence
I wish sometimes that I can leave my hEARt here
Rested at the bottom of the Ocean
Feel the humdrum of the sloshing back and forth as she lulls me deeper in
Eventually I believe I would begin to feel her warmth that lies beneath the cool, solid mantle and brittle crust.
Magnetic attraction.
Sacral plexus orange.
Creativity firing.
Born to Breed.
Part of this world but I cannot sing the song that others would hEAR
I would lose the beat
Perhaps this is a human’s purpose.
To rise from the depths to sing the song to the dry landers.
Throat plexus blue.
Speaking truth.
A voice in a box
Larynx
The heart is at home
At the bottom of the Ocean
She rehearses and learns the beat, the rhythm
She surfaces and the beat will not stop until
She has sung
Her life’s song
I will then return
Home
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