I have loved you since first I felt
your tiny life force flutter inside my womb
And I shall love you long after I go
to live in the stars
You are my sunshine
You are my storms
I love you more
than every grain of sand on every beach
More than the twinkling points of light
which illuminate the night sky
You are my rainbow
You are the sweet air I breathe
The dreams of wild prophetic seas
You are my every reason to be.
Few are the instances when you know something extraordinary is happening as it occurs. What lifts lovely into transcendent is usually the vantage point of time.
Holding my babe at my breast, feeling the sweet suck of her mouth, pulling from me so much more than life giving milk. Drawing out those dreamy days when she was an elfin bundle of curious, too-serious eyes. My heart overflowing when her body nuzzled into me as if I were the best place to be. Binding her to my heart with invisible cords of silken steel. Unable to bear setting her dreaming self apart from me, for even a little while, we dozed. Sleeping together in the rocker together as clouds drifted, and storms brewed. My arms continuing to hold her close even in dreams. Those were some of the best times.
In a flash of dark shining eyes, and cloud of dark silk hair floating behind, she dashes up to press her cheek against me and hold me tight. Her voice sings high and low, magpie bright, filled with the adventures of the day. She slips her hand into mine, even though she has to no longer, and for a moment my heart turns, clenches and Hallmark tears well up in my eyes. I let the excitement of her day, its quicksilver laughter and stormy tears cascade around me, and setting aside the grey of my day, I drink her in. Thinking these are some of the best times.
image: Motherly Love by Gunman
I am tossed into emptiness
passing out of the pages of the book.
Characters no longer live and breathe within me,
Gone the lingering wonderment and
sweet anticipation of their actions.
Furtive pleasures in the turning of a page
Lockstepped in the ranks of idle thinkers
Guess its time to write...
Sleep claims them
Dropping them where it overtakes them,
Arms akimbo
Legs out flung and dangling
Abandoned to whatever softness
cushioned their descent into dreams
Unrousable
Drugged on the first deep dive
Swimming up from near dreaming
to weakly voice a protest
before becoming sonorous once more
Like dolls discarded,
batteries exhausted
they sprawl
While for the awakened
Vigilance.
There will be time enough later for romance, for the sizzle of your dark eyes and soft persuasion of your kiss.
Just for now let there be mindlessness between us. Celebrate complete abandon to the god and goddess within. Join me in the great union. Fanning flames of reckless passion, fill me and yield the antidote to perpetual emptiness. Strip from me the hollowness of the everyday moments. Fuck me into feeling.
I crave the slippery, slip-slide, rock me deep, stroking heat of you. Lost in tangled up kisses that sear and sizzle. Reeling from the desperate grasp and catch of hands to hold. Fingertips running across the smooth track from want to yearn. Toe-clenching, foot-arching, needing to be skin-to-skin, every inch of me rubbing against you.
Breathing in the spice of your skin. Relishing the savory sweetness of your tongue dancing against mine. To bite and hold captive your lip, each tonguing a replica of the thrusting below.
Desperate with yearning to feel the ferocity of your suckling, tearing with irresistible nibbles my tender breasts. Pull from me the aching, trembly need to give, to succor you. Oh, suck and catch me between your teeth! Arching back, tossing head, eyes pressed closed against the sweet yearning. Draw me forth from the inside out, strung out on the perfect torment of your mouth.
Hips rising to parry your every thrust. In and hold, out and empty, aching, homecoming. I will not wait patiently long. Have me, take me, use me... Here. Now!
Shh, be silent. Still your sweet bard's tongue. Woo me with words another time, when I am not already aflame with need.
I am seduced by the prospect of the wet song of our hips dragging, arching, plunging deep. The lusty air filled with pistoned exhalations of sighs, rife with 'yesses.' Raptly attentive to each other's inarticulate moans.
Do not savor me. Devour me in great greedy bites. Take and take and take until there is nothing left.
Be for me the all consuming flame, the blade hungry for quenching, home sheathed within my dark wet chalice.
Heat to heat, let us be... incendiary.
image: suspire by Tomasz Rut
Knowledge is easily acquired. Facts and respected opinions slip from the tongue in quicksilver fashion.
But some things we can know, we do not fully understand until we have felt them. They must be experienced in order to dwell within us.
And so it was in the sleeping hours after midnight, I sat alone winnowing through the paper detritus that accumulates like swirling dust motes, building here and there on every flat surface.
I picture it. Standing bravely on the scrubby ground of a box-canyon floor. Nightgown flowing to my ankles. Leaning into a headlong wind, arms akimbo. Grasping as if to tie the passing moment down in mimeo, leaflet, post-it, double-spaced first-line indented memos. It is impossible. Scraps of paper, twists of news, glossy brochures cling, plastered to fabric, woken to hair, until I am a woman of words. Assaulted by the two dimensional gurgitations of the world around me.
Into the silent scream, I relentlessly doomed others' words to reincarnation via a brown grocery bag. The night was rent by a piercing scream. Fearing it was my beloved child I raced through the dark house. She slept on, unaware.
Outside I barreled, hyper-vigilant for a child in need, a person in distress or cat to rescue... The mundanity of the street was absolute. An Ansel Adams still life in blue white moonwash, sleep blanketed the quiet suburban landscape. Not even the masked bandits that sometimes socialize upon my stoop, clawing up to feast upon squab and egglets in the framing trees were present.
Mewing myself back up into the golden warmth of my lamp and coffee colored couch, I picked up the next piece of paper and then set it back down with disregard.
What if it was not a cry from life, this anguished gut-wrenching moan that spurred me from my task, but rather the collective protest of all that the action represents?
I will not be chased from this cleansing by ghosts in the paperwork! I thought. I am undeterred by the sticky fingers of habit, and slumberous embrace of sloth.
New beginnings have at the end of their arduous toil, the promise of peace and contentment. Resolute, I shook my fist at inertia.
"Howl all you like," I intoned, donning the mantle of making, "I am crafting this new way, and your hold on me is of little moment. A fallen leaf. A time passed. Howl on... And my cries shall surpass yours, drowning out your despair in the joy and terrible beauty of my emptiness in creation."
image: Lament by JugglinMike
You do not understand when I tell you I do not feel. Yes, pressure, and sensation live in me. Yet how they are connected to pleasure or pain becomes at times somehow disengaged.
In days of numbness the exquisite sensations of light touch are lost upon me. Every touch feels like my own hand upon my arm, non-erotic. I used to believe at times like these, I would not feel much unless the pain was very near.
A lover once suggested that sometime in the forgotten days my perceptions had become skewed and my need for sensation, for high intensity was the result.
I do not really care... I just want to feel.
image: Kill The Sun by Black Roses Withering
