[upon the advent of love]
I still remember the first time I came to your place. Last summer. I stepped on a slug on the way in. I was startled, confused, and (wearing flip-flops) I was honestly a little pissed off.
But it stuck with me: something soft was there.
And I hurt it without meaning to.
I was softer then.
The kind of soft that is raw and messy.
naked, I struggled to dance with grace in minefields.
My minefields are mind-feels.
The more you mind those fields,
the more mined you feel.
All this to say…
What’s the difference between a slug and a snail, anyway?
I thought about it for a year, and I’ve decided they’re the same. Except one has a home. Jury’s out on whether either knows where to go.
But…
I like that they don’t rush.
I like how they’re known, on occasion, to get tangled up.
I like how, with all they need on their own backs, still they choose to meet and share space.
I admire how they don’t seem to need a single place to stay.
I carry you with me.
And I’m quite happy in doing so.
written 06.2025
AEURA AERA 