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.