I cry in savasana. Not every time but just when it was really good; like sex good yoga. Okay maybe I am going a little too far with that sex analogy, but maybe not, too. I want more yoga, more breathing in your funk and junk, booty flaring dog get-down. I try to be silent about it, cover my eyes with a towel to shade the overwhelming light that enters my body, but sometimes my chest quakes, like you I had before and want again. The doctor says I need to pull back, not so much, only if it is totally restorative. Give it time, but I need more of you. Your longings coming from someplace I have just discovered, some tiny particle that exists inside me, you and I share. Together we could come apart, too, we let too much of our crazy blinding space through our middle, you touch me.