I feel you coming, deep in my gut the old wound is reignited.
You never wait to be invited, though your presence is reliable.
Consuming my energy, you slip so comfortably into my very being.
I smell you coming, deep, earthy smell like the ancient ground.
Magenta waves pulse throughout my feminine, emptying my womb.
I loathe your entitled manifestation, yet I revere your erudite presence.
I see you coming, deep scarlet, flowing away like a graceful river.
Waxing and waning from the vivid, harsh centre, to the faded, soft edge.
You slip into the past easily, like ancestral tales of untold lives.