The Master's glance
is solidified grace

which was nothing but theology
until I felt the Beloved's touch,

fingertips ever so gently pressing
my chest, only for a moment,

yet that ripeness split open forever,
spilling golden fruit.

In the beginning, Grace seems
abstract, silent as the night sky,

until the whisper comes, a syllable
filling the heart with star music.

Here's the simple truth:
we've already drowned in love.

Let’s be honest, friend, I only
became free when I surrendered.