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You Are the Harbour

Were it not for the medicine I would not be spending an hour-and-a-half each day in a love so enchanting I could drown in it. But then I do drown in it and allow my sex to dive as deep as it takes to express a love so deep.

Were it not for the medicine I would not be sharing like this to her, opening myself, almost like confessing because, is it OK to bare my flesh? �Will blood spurt from the incision, or will it be a fountain of princes and angels that scatter attar of roses as they glide into the mist?

Were it not for the medicine I would not be reciting aloud the �20,000-league� journey to mother, and now finally seeing on the sea floor, the sparks of connection/disconnection to mother was what lit the guiding light of my dark search for love. �

Were it not for the medicine I would not be recounting all the different ways through life I sought to yield without having to relinquish my sex, my core. �

Were it not for the medicine it would have taken me god-knows how long to see what you already knew, that you are the end of the voyage.

You are the harbour� and I am safe.