I want to drink my freedom like ambrosia from the hands and bodies and mouths of other people, not lock it in a cask to age and turn rancid. I haven’t yet held the body I would forsake all other bodies for, haven’t drank the nectar of a flower that would make all other flowers seem pale and limp by comparison. My skin hasn’t been caressed by the eyes and voice that I would feel naked without. I want to be kissed by the suns first rays as I lay down to go to sleep, I want to keep the moon in her solitary guard company. I want to dance in the rain with only my hair and arms and those of others to clothe me. I want to be the colors of the rainbow and no color at all. I want to walk barefoot through the alkaline flats of the desert and burn. I want to wake up, a stranger in a strange land, to learn as I did as a child, to be fearless and feared. I want to swim in waters the color of my eyes and drink wine like blood. I want to dive into waterfalls and land in the trees. I want to be bruised and battered, to be in pain so that I know I am alive. I want to be worshipped. I want to form my life again and again from the raw clay of my soul. I want my eyes to burn with tears. I want to know the smalls of my lovers’ backs, the hollows of their hips, the points of their jaws, the backs of their knees, the palm of their hands. I want to be held in the strength of a hurricane and ripped apart by tornadoes. I want to know betrayal and make her a friend and a lover, knowing she’ll leave when I need her most. I want to make love to a bank of moss, long and slow and sensuous. I want to pass unnoticed in a crowded room. I want to jump double dutch, weaving in and out. I want to know the untouchables, learn their stories, drink their tears and bask in their strength. I want to march to my own drum beat and dance to no one’s music save that of the pounding of my heart and the rhythm of my breath.


One thought on “Ambrosia

  1. […] reminded, in my mind’s meanderings as I wended my way south on Highway 52 this afternoon, of Ambrosia. The .. urgency of my quest for freedom, and for identity, has waxed and waned in the 10 or so […]

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