Some people get it.
No language needed,
No cultures far enough to separate them,
No seas wild enough to drown them,
No dogs rabid enough to scare them,
They just get it.
Communicate as intricately as crotched lace,
Live, breathe, speak without time or space,
In articulate mastery, hold each other in loves embrace,
There’s nothing sexual about their encounters fireplace,
Warmed souls, interlocking spirits, outlining their trace,
Beauty manifest, hidden secrets without face,
Union reconciles their ancient displace,
Long lost friends, recognising the commonplace.
Breath abated, with patience wait,
Creative’s, artists, musicians and gnostic states,
Eventually we arrive and stand around the garden gates,
Unperturbed, unconcerned awaiting fate,
To this cause our pupils contract and dilate,
Hearts conflate, minds obliterate,
We’re here, in His dominion at His estate,
Utterly numb, we fall, we prostrate.