What is it called?

Cherry clouds, misty songs,

Tipsy toes, there are no wrongs.

A brush against my feet - soft. This warmth, an acquaintance - skin. Under silk sheets, under morning breeze, long before light corrupts my eyes. It is then that I am reminded of a presence, overwhelmed by the existence of an empowering occupancy. Next to me lays all there is. This burden of liberation is all there is. 

This feeling. What is it called?

An integral of habits and thoughts. Adoration: I worship this. A figure so tall, so big, right in front of me. Piercing vision: melting, freezing, toying with me. I am not afraid. I am. In awe. Rinse me clean of all the dirt, all the accumulations of gore and hurt. Rinse me clean of this girl that screams. Rinse me clean of the man that gleams.

This weight. What is it called?

Singing hymns of pure enchantment. I learn of the majesty and the glory and the betrayal. The epitome of me - this presence. The death of me - this presence. A blade carves my skin. Realization, it's a shrine. Sunken stone, it's a heart. My sin - to take, to take, to take. 

This grip. What is it called?

Beloved soul, still ocean,

Misty eyes, the end of motion.