I want to see you dance. Not the choreographed, lead and follow, booty shaking, I-know-this-is-what-you-like dance. Give me the the animal of your body, unhinged and clawing and flailing to the heartbeat of the earth until you summon the gods themselves to pour libations at your feet. The ecstatic unraveling that dismembers your shame, that wrings sweat and tears and regret from your skin and leaves you on your knees before the altar of your own body in exalted devotion.
I want to hear you sing. Not the perfectly pitched, silky smooth melody that pours out like a sweet lullaby song. Give me your cackling and moaning with a vibrato that rumbles the earth, that turns nectar into vinegar, that erupts the endless night sky from your mouth and echos with thunder and laughter and floods my senses. The diamond-edged heart song that cuts me open and fleshes out my bones with fur and fangs until we are both howling at the moon.
I want to witness your grief. Not the neat and tidy, appropriately contained, quiet and lonely grief. Give me your guttural screams and cries, so loud that I can hear your ancestors speak through your trembling hands in a language I can understand when I look into your eyes. The wailing that draws the pain from your bones and lets it exist somewhere outside of your soft and tender body, so I can feel the weight of what you’ve been carrying all by yourself and lay it down on the earth together.
I want to feel your love. Not the greeting card, carefully calculated, say what I want to hear kind of love. Give me your too-much, too-loud, too-wild and rapturous expression of the divine emergence that escapes any attempts to be contained by words. The naked and raw free fall into vulnerability that opens us, teaches us, deepens us, and mends us whole, but will never leave us intact. The exquisite ache that whispers from deep within your broken-open heart: you belong, you are home.