root•ing

There’s something marvelous
tugging at my sleeve,
unbeknown to me.
Something is secretly rooting for me,
in benevolence and reverence
of highest order and finest
milky ways of my feisty body.
My Soul feels this shimmering
presence gently rubbing
against my unassuming cheek.

“I am here beloved, in the heat
of your inescapable longing,
in the music of your
inexhaustible song”

His love is rooting in me,
strong, effervescent,
eating away my unmistakable confusion.
and there is nothing
I can do about it
other than
allowing to be seen
allowing to be touched
allowing to be.