253

At midnight
And your voice—
A strange shiver, as if you have already been read.
253 at dawn.
Words arrive and hide themselves
In the memory of space,
Leaving only their energy:
The pulse of longing and desire,
The hum of yearning and wish,
The flicker of plea and craving.
Then comes a touch—
A brush of longing and tenderness,
As if from another world.
An eternal embrace, always open,
And a God descending to Earth
Just to make love.
Perhaps what goddesses and gods themselves feel.
Each cell in me inhales your presence,
And a limitless pleasure
Rises at the edge of suffering.
I remember your call,
As if whispering:
“Look at the clock, and tell me,
2:53.”
We both know what it holds.
In the darkness, I trace the numbers on the sheets,
Knowing you will receive them in white light.

253 means
All that passes between us
In the flames of eternity.

by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 1, 2026