Love Is The First Medicine, He Told Me

BY SARAH L. HARVEY

My ears ping, my eyes startle, and I wake curled next to you with the knowing, brilliant as a hot Summer morning etched in my heart–

The elixir is ready now.

With all the grit and glitter you see in me, I rise.
With the gentle, roaring caress of your arms, I rise.
No longer torn — our kisses, the sutures that sew me back together
As I feel heaven pool in the bowl of my pelvis
Dark, heavy, like night.
Velvet, sweet, viciously beautiful
To your cherry mouth’s delight.

I pop the silence with the fireworks of this poem.
My voice–
As I move the boulders off the river of your heart, your weary chest–
With my gentle hands.
You let me.
The curtains open.
The luxury of your heart draped beneath
An exotic victory.

Pomegranates,
I shall eat you like fruit with my soul’s mouth in rounded tablespoons until you stop me with howls that escape the sides of your ravaged lips, from the cold, harsh winds of this life–
Softness re-ignites them.
Softness envelops us both.
Much-needed softness,
As we kiss–
Which are kisses, yes, but really they’re prayers to the Goddess
Sent up in the billowing smoke of the megalithic heat between us.
Electricity snaps, crackles, pops, shifts, twists.
Ultraviolet.

The sunlight between us pulsates.
Tones of honey and pewter pour
Jasmine draped in lavender.
There is no wrong here.
There is only being, and that is always just right.
You make love to me–
Precious fingers touch my skin and wander, wander to explore
Everything.

Why do they call this sin?
For it is the cleansing of the pain.
It is the re-igniting of spirit and the wide mouth of support.
You make love to me, I sail.
You touch me with a slow whisper, a gentle murmur of fingertips–I unravel.
Dust and stone falls away so that I may be with you
As me–
Priestess.
Raw.
In the molten heat of my center.
Vulnerable as hell.
We both are.

You touch me, and cry.
Tears like crystals from the inside of caves, formed centuries ago, weep from the corners of your luscious green-brown eyes.
They land on the roaming meadows of my stomach. I cry.
We turn to salt.
We are the ocean.
We breathe with the waves, go in and out with the tides until we are spat gently ashore.
Hands clasped.
The dream is real. Never over.
The medicine we make: love.

Pressed with our own hands, made potent by facing our fears, our shit, our most fucked up beliefs, our beauty and power, grounded in bravery and this supreme nakedness — we stand in front of one another.
Completely naked, and never happier.
“Because love is the first medicine,” you say.
And I believe you.

We lay, our hair wind-swept and salt-soaked, our skin sunburned and pink.
We bask on the sand dunes, in the sweet, rising warmth of this love we have created.
It is a palace, an island, a beach, a river.
Our love is a place born of water.
It took us awhile to find it. But we are here now, pulled deeper by the threads of this shared journey.
And we are held through it all.
Every tear. Every fear. Every time we got so scared and walked away. Every time we didn’t want to be seen, when being seen felt like pain.
We are held through it all.

The beauty, unfolding in sheets of marigolds to wear around our necks, to drape around our shoulders like bright orange snakes.
The pollen is so sweet.
Blessings, we are woven in and surrounded by.
Forgiveness sweeps in.
We rise together — man and woman.
We are stronger together.
We worship together.
We create the prayer together.
“Because love is the first medicine,” you say.
Then we dissolve back into the ocean.
Into the laughing arms of our Mother, deep blue, plunging, wild, dancing on the frothy, white tips in utter joy, too.
We soften.
We soften, more, more, more–
Until our skin is not skin, but fruit, but nectar, but liquid of Goddess.
“To soften. That’s what healing is,” I say.
We melt forever.
We are forever transformed.

That’s the power of this love-cure between us.
There never was such a potent thing.
“Because love is the first medicine,” you say.
And I believe you.

I lay in your arms as the late night tucks us into a bed of roses and stars.
The night is dark.
But this love is warmth.
To be touched, to be seen, to be known, to be cherished, to be understood in spite of it all–
We melt forever.
The fragrance
Of you
And me:
The elixir.
We melt forever.

Subtle as honeysuckle sewn in the breeze
Sweet and wild enough to change the world.

We melt forever.

For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom.

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The Urban Howl is an independent online magazine founded in 2016. We help creatives share their voice with the world. We provide a home for anyone, both emerging and established, and we can’t wait to read your magic : http://theurbanhowl.com/submit/ . . . @theurbanhowl . . .

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