the sound of your voice

there is a secret place 

in the sound of your voice,

that I could underwater swim for hours.

as if it was swimming me, 

for me to discover,

how effortless is

this frame of mind.

where if passion is the effort

then everything passes as embrace.

there are no memories generated

but grandness expanding,

riding a wave of this moment's sensory blush.

where linger is in a free-fall of constancy rising,

where intimacy has more presence 

than embodiment can present,

where consummate has all moving parts

presenting as adoring stillness yet beaming.

your voice, as home,

without the need of experiential confirmation,

beyond what solid could attest to,

a vastness without being quantified,

a quench without the search from thirst,

a hum so deep it precedes mouth's articulation,

a source without origin or cause.

bask as if boundless only slow dances.

your voice, an instrument, 

I bow to listen.

my tension across your smooth, plays me.

I'd give up on being 

to be assigned as your echo,

as if in utterance, 

there is the ecstatic shaping of space.

it is a wellspring of appearance without arrival,

mysterious without secrecy, silence or solitude,

resoundingly hushed as overwhelming and loud,

tonally permeating throughout the within

yet coming out of you, 

a loss of separateness occurring 

from without notice interrupting.

your sound-current functioning as my blood.

my aliveness, a frequency of you.

for there is a secret place 

in the sound of your voice.

where now, I often hear myself, 

speaking you . . .