Woven from the Infinite

I am the breath of creation, the living altar of the divine. Dripping in the nectar of the holy.

I am woven from the infinite, shaped by unseen hands. This body sculpted from light, from longing, from the first sigh of existence.

Love rises from me like perfume,

spilling from my fingertips, pooling at my feet,

tracing itself across my lips in soft, honeyed whispers.

I am the chalice and the wine.

The temple and the flame.

The prayer and the answer.

I walk as an offering.

Every step I take consecrates the ground beneath me. Every breath drawn between parted lips is an invitation. Every gaze, every touch, a summoning of the sacred.

I do not shy away from desire.

I do not shrink from the hunger that stirs in my belly,

the shiver that dances along my skin when the wind kisses my throat.

I am already overflowing.

I let my devotion pour from me

a river, a flood, an unstoppable current of love.

I drink from the cup of life with reverence, with hunger, letting its sweetness roll over my tongue,

letting it drip down my chin,

unashamed, unburdened, undone.