Want

satsekhem:

I want to dress in my gods and wrap them around me as a cloak. I want them to give me the safety I rarely feel in waking life and feel enveloped in their embrace.

I want to wear them around my shoulders, covering my face in cool darkness, and peer out into the world secure in that indefinable emotional upheaval that they create within me. I want to feel as though I am covered from head to toe in the assurances of their love, of my love, and walk with that swagger.

I want to have them in my hands, on my body, suffocating the ordinary from me. I want them to burn the embers of my humanity away, leaving nothing but our feelings behind scattered amid the ashes of the person I used to be.

I want to feel them entangled around my legs like a comfortable blanket calling me back to bed. I want to feel them zipped tight against my skin like a hoody keeping the detritus of the world at bay.

I want them to hold me close, a Sat-sized sandwich, robbed of breath as they squeeze me like a vice. I want them to choke the insecurities, anxieties, and depression from me leaving only the brazen, give-no-fucks behind.

I want to arise secure in their affections and secure with my own, like the Bennu on that first morning. I want to screech into the night, forcing daybreak to come just by the will of my own emotions and desires.

I want to wrap my gods around me like a cloak, keeping me safe in the velvet jewelry box of their affections.