intimacy is my being

I had intimacy painted on my heart,

so that I could see with my emotional eyes.

I had intimacy sketched in tonal conversations,

so that I could later reveal to myself my blindspots.

I had intimacy cast images into my memories,

so that I could later reflect on feelings felt.

I had intimacy ingest the life-force of my being,

so that I could find harmonics that hummed off of me.

I had intimacy come by in waves of passing moments,

so that I could sense the heartfelt of embraces.

I had intimacy be aloof and distant,

so that I could discern and embody in it's absence. 

I had intimacy want into and out of me,

so that I could come home to my spirit ongoing.

I had intimacy as a deep longing,

before I came to realize the presence of its worth.

I had intimacy as a subtle teacher of my being,

that I took for granted, 

until it went beyond what it means.

for it's not the understanding that I cherish.

it's not for the inner conversation that it makes.

it's not for the friends and the connections conveyed.

for intimacy invites me, 

to a deeper sense of truth.

it invites me to speak by presence,

to feel beyond apparent circumstance,

to emotionally immerse beyond relational skills,

to be astute in my intentions of caring,

to be witness to another's energetic truth,

and to be aware of the presence of our spirit.

intimacy is the kindling,

for the fire of oneness to warmly churn.

for from it,

there is the heat of our beings 

and the brightest light of our soul.

intimacy is my human, 

as ever being . . .