‘After the ecstasy, chop wood carry water’.
All ecstasy must permeate itself into the ordinary.
Your voice, the smooth timbre of your tone bristles my sensibilities.
It’s the kind of connection for me where the pronounced bliss highlights the acute absence of us, or to equal measure. I lean into the longing aware of the grasping.
I meet only my unending, full self in the pockets of what I believe I am missing.