Remember. The way you make love is the way God will be with you.
Dance until you shatter yourself.
O tongue you are an endless treasure. O tongue, you are also an endless disease.
Silence is the root of everything. If you spiral into its void a hundred voices will thunder messages you long to hear.
Lovers don't meet in the end, they are in each other forever.
God picks up the reed-flute world and blows. Each note is a need coming through one of us, a passion, a longing pain. Remember the lips where the wind-breath originated, and let your note be clear. Don't try to end it. Be your note.