I am nothing to your loveliness,
empty vessel,
meant for this.
Nothing holding,
offering all,
I yearn so til I’m full…
If all I was could be for you,
yet all I’m not
is what makes room:
your touch my life,
your breath my soul,
your rain and wind my essence;
your sound my pulse,
your scent my joy,
my every sense for incense…
Caelan Rowan McCuen 