The loving caress of a mother, the back of hand drawn in the whisper of a touch across a cheek, as I caress a flowering bush, is felt within me.
The longing of The Dance to be inside me, to be in body that she may thus brush my cheek similarly, for it is just such a touch that I need.
The regretful holding back and withdrawing as man longing to fill his young woman with his love, she longs to be inside me, but knows the soul is not yet ready. "Hurting her would be the end of me", says 'he'. "Thank you for thus sharing yourself with me", from me, rubbing cheek to that hand,caressing me.
The smallest penetration, the whisper of a kiss, a taste so serene and sweet. Something else I need. A longing deep within me.
"Pull it back, little one" she says to me, "rest and release that which comes between you and me, the anxiety, making you unready for me". There will be another day for thee.
So goes the dance of embodiment, of this thing beloved and dear to me, The Dance, Mother and Father of all, of me.
The ghost of three. Distraction.
My soul recognizes this is her beloved, all she has been wanting, all she has been waiting for, all for which she has been longing,what her soul needs. Oneness of body. Oneness of me.
So she, the "he" in me allows the integration, allows the release, allows the rest we need. Observing with fascination as a man of a sleeping lover, a child by her mother,a dear, sweet little form, the results of his generosity, the rest he gives her. He is gracious. He is loving. He is nurturing of me.
I am loved romantically.
I have the warm embrace of a family.
I have it all growing inside me, a pregnant mother, a child within me, the child that is me. A family that is complete in me and in she and in we.
Innocence and purity, curled up and cradled in safety,warm arms and loving embrace, all holding one in another. He will not touch his sister, his lover, for right now she belongs to her mother, these babes at rest and at ease together within me.
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