When reverence replaces resistance.
Power changes meaning when love enters the room.
What once felt like control begins to feel like trust.
What once tightened my throat starts to open it.
I used to think love meant balance—
two people meeting evenly in the middle.
But real intimacy moves.
It carries current, voltage, pull.
It lives in the motion between strength and yielding,
between guiding and being guided.
The current itself is what keeps us alive.
There’s a holiness in the give and take,
in the way two bodies or two hearts
can teach each other reverence.
It isn’t about dominance or surrender anymore.
It’s about presence — the listening kind,
the kind that knows when to rise
and when to let yourself be met.
The moments that once felt like exposure
now feel like belonging.
What once made me brace
now slows my breathing.
There’s nothing shameful in it.
It’s worship disguised as wanting.
Someone wrote it in a song once:
How’s one to know?
I’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones,
in a faith-forgotten land.
Oh, goddamn, my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand.
My house of stone, your ivy grows,
and now I’m covered in you.
Love changed its meaning here.
The walls that once guarded me
began to feel like altars.
What I built for safety
became the place I learned to pray.
Echos of Insight 
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