the scent of you

The truth is, that sometimes the only way you can keep loving a person is to let them go.

I could have stayed until resentment sickened me.

I could have strained to keep you until I wore my heart weary.

We could have been together, but apart.

Or perhaps we could have been better... loved better. but no, i doubted...

So it's over

while I can still smile at the scent of you in my bedsheets.

Telepathic message to the God

to each
i have given a cup

some crystal
some clay

all empty
none could fill

the great riddle of loving me
they were such small things

perhaps they were cracked
but it no longer matters

to You
i will bring the jeweled chalice

the grail that i am searching for
inside of myself

it overflows

prove yourself
and you may touch

love me
and you may drink

honor the Goddess
and i will bathe you in sweet, soft water

dry your skin with my hair
and invite you to dip in the well

and if you do not exist
my cups will still be full

Lust of the Daughter of Sekhmet

Here I Am

walking in the desert

daughter of the lion-headed goddess

marked by her flaming hair

Her hot winds

have burned up my caution

sent my sanity up in steam

I am drunk with heat

mad with passion

Here You Come

as rain

plump, hard juicy drops

beating down on my fevered body

bursting open

and dripping down my skin

Why shouldn't I dance in the low country?

Why shouldn't I shed my clothes?

Why shouldn't I revel and relish?

Why shouldn't I bathe and frolic?

why wouldn't i drink my fill of you and

puuuuuurrrrr

?

Brief note on Perspective

If you walk through life using the shaky rationale of "caution," or "self-protection," to justify why you choose to look at every glass as half-empty, all the while hoping to be pleasantly surprised, chances are that you won't be. Lose the candy-coated fear, and realize that you must change your perspective to change your experience. It is a rare occurence for it to happen the other way around.

xoxoxo

Brief note on Passion

True passion is marked by the presence of pure, unavoidable vulnerability. The possibility that the object of your desire/love/inspiration could be lost or change fundamentally always exists. If this happens, you will be equally as devastated as you once were passionate.

However, this does not make passion a weakness or a character flaw. In my opinion, those who are determined to experience the best in life actually pursue it.

we are that we are

it is significant
that the god of the Hebrews
never gave himself a name
he didn't want to be boxed in

*

but look what we have done
how we have changed in the 50-odd years
since we sat down at the table
and said
"here's what you can call us"

would've rather they kept calling us the boogieman
it's easy to know that you're not that
and keep creating your own image
keep evolving
keep being yourself

but they needed a name for us
and we wanted to be called
and so we gave them the secret
things we thought it might be nice
to hear

but each one turned foul in their mouths

we kept trying

*

god knows
that when the name of a holy thing
is spoken
its magic is taken out
the breath of its life is sucked back out into the cosmos
and the moisture evaporates
it loses fluidity

and so
the beautiful mud people
have hardened into
dry clay
baked under the harsh gaze of voyeurs
definers

*

we are no longer ourselves
stuck in poses
like statues
names on placards
explained in a paragraph
for passers-by

we have lost our lives
but we are not dead yet
and now
when they call us the boogieman
(though never to our faces)
we choke on wondering
is it true?

*

Fantasy of the Day 10/19/2011

I want to go to the market before sunset, and see the mats glow like felled rainbows, colorful produce made brighter and more tempting by the orange-pink rays of the hour. There I will find the woman with the long skirt, eyes glittering, kneeling before her offerings. At first, her face will seem dusty and sour from a full day of work so close to the ground. But then she will smile, and teeth that are surprisingly white will set her whole face inside the halo of the ancient Mothers. She will dazzle me with her beauty. I will kneel, meeting her eyes with mine, and ask for the fruit that hides under the protection of her skirt. She will cut her eyes a bit, but joyfully. "You have chosen well, daughter," she will say in a language locked to my ear but open to my soul, as she hands me the plump scented thing. She will overcharge me, and I will pay double her price; this is all I wanted. I will walk home, grinning, with the most sensuous mango I have ever encountered wrapped up in linen like a jewel, and we will both be satisfied. Her spell ending, and mine beginning...