After the storm, cooler winds licked my face
As droplets slipped off my cheeks onto my thighs...
My face, pressed against the sky,
Showed marks of the tempest
As rest flowed to my heart.

Passion is the soul’s electricity,
Energizing the touch to life,
And seizing the consciousness.
In the twist of the effort, and the heat
Of intimacy’s embrace
Is the fruit of love’s bite.

Stillness, and sweet breath on my neck,
Is love’s reward in the afterglow.
Mystic senses not revealed to mortal description
Lend light in after-struggle’s calm.

But for me, and to me, and with me,
Is the stillness which still flows moment to moment,
And I wonder: Was it only me,
Or, was somebody else there?