A favor?

Can I ask you a favor?
Can you please stop smelling like you do?
With your honey filled lips and eclipsed eyes.
Quit it.
You give my cheeks a tingling sensation,
and I am going to have to slap myself to make it right.
So please.
Stop walking so tall, and keeping your skin so tight.
Cuz I am about to lose my shit.
And we know, that that won't be good for either of us.

This Transcendence,
is far from,
coincidental.
Brushing burnt pieces of flesh,
from our our shoulders.
Incinerated from the fire,
that once (still) burns between us.
We call ourselves,
Survivors.
We call ourselves,
Saviors.
We call ourselves,
Preachers
We are anything but;
A legacy of sorts.
Residue, debris and remnants
of the movements we shared,
left over for our feasting.
But we will remain,
Unrightfully,
Starved.
Walking forward,
with the ashes of lust,
on our cheekbones,
highlighting our faces like,
expensive rouge.
Flawed beauty, damp fingers
and eyes,
Stroll out of the havoc we left,
The marring we can't seem to clean up.

I am Deeply Rooted.
Every tendril of my body embraces,
the gift,
of movement.
I dance the dance of a thousand souls,
but most importantly,
mine.
I am Deeply Rooted,
we as a circle connected
within
the apple core of humanity.
Flesh live, blood fresh.
I am Deeply Rooted,
believing in the power of one voice,
a touch,
an embrace with existence,
on the tip toe of the universe I believe.
I am Deeply Rooted.
Thriving in the stillness of extension,
the union of us all,
In Breath.
I see, learn and feel you.
I am Deeply Rooted.
I am you and you are me,
but we are not the same,
our chests rise and fall together though,
the syncrinicity of mother earth.
My love and hers.
I am.