Pleasure is not some selfish thing—
It’s the body’s hush, the soul’s soft sing.
It’s the sunlight kissing your upturned face,
The quiet thrill of unhurried grace.

It’s fingertips wrapped ‘round a warm tea cup,
The scent of flowers just opening up.
The sway of hips when no one sees,
The breeze that dances through the trees.

It’s sacred, simple, real, and true—
A language your whole self once knew.
You were not made to just survive,
You were made to feel deeply, to come alive.

I welcome this moment of sweet delight.
I claim my joy, my sacred right.

You don’t have to earn what feels divine.
The little joys are healing signs.
A juicy peach, a laugh that stays—
These are prayers in quiet ways.

There’s wisdom in a bubble bath,
In lazy mornings, in heartfelt laughs.
The purr of rest, the hum of song—
These are the ways we come back home.

Let joy be your compass, your golden thread,
Let it pull you gently from your head.
No guilt, no shame—just soft permission
To honor joy as your own tradition.

So taste the sweetness, sip the sun.
Delight is sacred. You are the one
Who gets to choose what feels like bliss—
Start with now. Start with this.