Search inside the window of my soul

without placing the turpentine

to remove

the bright colors of me

and love me

like the artist loves

the strokes of paint

brushing slowly on a canvas.

 

Listen, but with your heart

not your ears

because love is like wind

felt but not touch,

flying invisibly without destination.

 

It is simply like this…

without expecting anything

but a beautiful composition

that comes from the mysterious

and my spirit reflects it all.

 

Touch me but without hypocrisy,

without ill-mannered words

that get caught in deception.

You are more than this,

more than those words,

poisonous thoughts,

insecurities,

that die inside of you.

 

Kiss me,

grab me tightly,

but not so much like a possession

of a car, house, or doll.

Place your hand over my heart,

notice the rhythm

and follow it.

Draw its lines,

its need for more,

full of life for us.

 

Love me, like this…

as love should be loved,

held with compassion

and faith leading the way

to wherever the Divine wants us to go.