Like silk
whispering across my skin;
a gentle mist
kissing my soul;
kindness unburdening me;
warmth, and cinnamon spice;
She comes.
Of the Earth, is She
whose heart beats with mine
a rhythm of life
renewal
and deepest bliss
Her essence luminous and night
shimmering at the water’s edge
or pulsating at the core
of darkness
Alive. Very much alive.
No fanfare proceeds Her,
No choir of angels.
In stillness, know Her.
In openness, receive Her.
She is here.
She is here.
One Woman's Quest 
Reblogged this on One Woman's Quest and commented:
An earlier post that seemed to fitting to post here, in the spirit of “Black Madonna”.
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