What follows isn't about a woman. It's about what the feminine can do for the masculine:

She is the hand on my shoulder in the middle of a dream, telling me to wake up.
She is the breath that lifts me when my chest forgets how.

She is the softness behind my eyes that lets me see beyond the shadow of mind.
She is the waterfall that finds the rigidities in me and softens them.

She is the scent of jasmine as I descend upon the mountainous hill.
She is the sweetness I felt when I saw myself in her eyes.

She is real. What she opens in me is ancient.

She makes me see how right I was and yet how wrong I was.

She breaks the small boy in me who is still waiting to be approved of.

She sees me as something older than a lover.
Something her first memory already knew.

There is no fear of obligation or what the future holds, for together we breathe the same air.

We live in a world of small fears, but with her I remember I’m just a visitor.

I don’t want her for the sex or the likes.
I want her because the part of me that wants her dissolves the moment she’s near.

If she elevates me we elevate. If I elevate her we elevate.

She and I are, on some level, One.
I sense I’m going too far, I better stop now.

She says no keep going, so I kiss her goodnight.
Before we drift into a stillness quieter than sleep.

Samy Felice

00:38 on a Full Moon