The Catastrophe of Her Embrace

Friends, tell me—

what storm lives within her arms?

What kind of reckoning is that embrace,

that final, beautiful collapse?

Surely, those who gather themselves into her—

who dare to close the distance—

do not return the same.

Perhaps they die there,

not in sorrow,

not in pain,

but in the overwhelming gravity

of being held too completely.

For some arms are not merely arms—

they are destiny tightening.

They are a horizon folding inward.

They are a world ending

and beginning

in the same breath.

Tell me, my friends—

what survives such closeness?

When warmth turns infinite,

when longing finds its answer,

when the body forgets its boundaries—

does the heart endure?

Or does it surrender,

grateful,

willing,

undone?

Maybe that is the secret of her embrace—

it is not meant to be survived.

It is meant to be experienced

like a beautiful catastrophe,

where the self dissolves

and only love remains.