Night

Tawny lions and crimson dragons
claw and slash their way
across the horizon.
Their reign is short-lived
as the Goddess unfurls
silken veils of black pearl
smocked with
the dust of oyster shells,
wet and sparkling,
wave upon layer
as the grain of sand
looks over its shoulder
toward the ever deepening
onyx ocean above
until all life is submerged
in her depths

Falling
Falling, but not down
Falling into you

Fall with me
Kissing
Spinning
Flying
Landing

In a field of daisies and sweet grass

Nibble my strawberry lips

Immerse your neck in my warm breath

Cherish me to sleep with affectionate whispers

Wake me again with your sorcerer's wand

Disrobe me with your eyes full of naughtiness

Falling is not so frightening...

I want to dance

with you

across the miles


Your sweet left hand,

my waist,

guides to an isle

deserted, filled with sands

of joy...

We spin a while

'Til we can't stand,

fall down

landing,

not landing,

floating,

yes, grounded,

soaring

from cliffs into

Acapulco blue.


Come

dance with me

across the miles.

I want

to touch you,

kiss you,

make you smile.

The moon rose.
I dream of you across the miles.
Still awake?

I hope you think of me,
and smile.

Here's a vision...
Tired bodies reach for comfort,
healing touch,
someone who knows where it goes.

In the dark,
hands follow familiar paths,
needing no light to be cast.

From deep wells in fatigued souls,
a lucid river of restoration flows,
a confluence of tributaries,
wholeness, rain to ocean marries
two, remain two, are one sharing, healing,
without seeing, only feeling.

Dream of me as you
lie in bed across the miles.
I want to flow.
Does that make you smile?

The sun rose.
I think of you across the miles.
Still sleeping?

I hope you dream of me
And smile.

Here's a thought...
Lazy arms reach for each other.
A careless bump,
Soft laughter under the cover.

Up close now,
Laughter grows softer, fades.
Our eyes lock in a steady gaze.

The drum of our hearts beating
Sets the rhythm of our bodies meeting.
We dance slowly as the bedroom sways.
Let's take our time, we have all day
To practice the familiar steps we know,
To perfect our lovers' tango.

Think of me
As you lie in bed across the miles.
I want to dance.
Does that make you smile?

A kiss for you in the morning

The slightest brush of my lips
against yours

Your eyes become butterflies, opening
their dewy wings for the first time


A smile for you in the morning

The first thing you see is joy
that I am yours

Your face begins to beam, filling me
with warmth and passion, like the sunrise


A longer kiss for you in the morning

You pull me close now
in your arms

Your arms, your legs, they wrap around me
like the earth still sleepy and sublime


A sweet embrace we share in the morning

You fill my cup and I
fill yours

Pouring till both are overflowing,
In one river, our two streams unite

I believe myself to have been

Willingly led to waltz with Carola*.

I found myself lost en route

To The Three Penny Opera.

But what a waltz!

And what a dancer!

She saw me to the train,

But I left without an answer.

To be loved by two, as close as cousins were they,
Naive Roxanne knew not that to choose meant to pay.

That they both so loved her was no fault of their own;
Neither had the courage to approach her alone.

Their words penned, Cyrano and Christian quickly fled.
Roxanne vainly tried to follow the path they led,

Chasing long shadows behind corners and through doors,
Answering voices that called from beyond the moors.

Tired and exhausted, she found a generous stump.
Contemplating fruitlessness, she contained the lump,

The lump that fought to release itself from her heart.
Her throat caught it, and her strong will ripped it apart.

When the kind stump had given sufficient reprieve,
Roxanne rose, followed the river, chose to believe

One or two mattered not as her affection grew;
Yet the men had plagued her a tornado of clues.

Unexpectedly, she found one of them at night,
And lay her weary head on his shoulder, not quite

Certain of which brother, however, and she feared
Her intended would stay hidden, never appear.

If outward is less important with age, and inward becomes what interests one more,
then figure out where your interests may lie, it may be as simple as a word.

Nearly two thousand revolutions came and went
before Friedrich sculpted his model
to honor he who honor honored,
he underneath the evergreens
where the twisting verdant ivy
to noble bones are humbly anchored.

His daughter, his sister-- she came naturally
not once to reject her liberties, Creon's civilities,
and found herself beside himself so honored.

So Bill had gotten jealous. She thought he knew that she would have her friends. All of them. Why not? He had kept up with all of his exes. And he had a string of 'would be's' a mile long. Some of them questionably young. Had already busted him for looking at pictures online, but she laughed about it right in front of him. He still wanted to have his way and not allow her any freedom. How long did he think she was going to put up with him? Well, she did not have a job - yet.

It would be different if he were supportive, but he was spending more and more time away from her. Even at home, he would do everything but talk to her. She needed her friends right now. Maybe he was trying to make her want to leave. Well, then, she was going to recoup the money she lost first.

She did not feel sorry for him. Had her, with all of her benefits, at home, while he philandered for years. All of these wasted years. She started to cry. Her first ex never made her feel like this. Not after the divorce either. And they had had some rough times.

This relationship had been a lot of work for her, but she had not wanted to put her children through a second divorce. Had she stayed in her own home, there would only be thirteen more years until it was paid for. At nearly thirty-nine, she would have to start from scratch.

Couldn't believe she had told him so much stuff about what she had learned, just for him to use it to his advantage. She was not even trying to do anything at the time, just home from the hospital. But she figured out over a week or two that he was using all the information she had told him to work his game. It had had to come out, and she thought he was being supportive by listening to her. But every day he put her down, or ignored her. Or he was rude and disrespectful. And he spent more and more time online. On his guitar forums.

She had a question but did not know who to ask. Would she ever be accepted as a 'person,' and not as a 'woman'? Or would they always have ulterior motives to try to 'catch' her?

If this were the case, as she was beginning to assume, then she could never be on a team for her benefits and not for her 'benefits.'

Not for advancement,
not for grades,
not for winning.
For what it was.

First Attempt with Watercolor

The third guy who thought he had bagged her, he had also seemed hurt, or at least offended, when she turned him down. It was probably embarrassing that everyone at work was talking about it, emailing it to one another and to sister buildings. Probably to their friends away from work, too. She never meant for that to happen. The whole thing was still confusing and outrageous then, and she was unintentionally 'playing the game.' Trying different things to find out what would happen next.

Some of them thought I knew. Maybe. But then, I did know, only I didn't. I still thought they were kidding about the sex. Her first sound notion that the sex stuff was real came from connecting some dots: the stuff she read, the conversations - meant for her to hear - in the breakroom, and seeing the pictures and grafitti. But one event in particular brought her around to third looking to steal home.

One morning, a younger fellow, the nephew of one of her mentors, brought his uncle some lunch. Right before she entered the break room, Number 3 gave her the 'heads up.' The concerned look on her mentor's face, the conversations, everything hit her. This is not happening, she told herself. She steered clear of her co-workers for the rest of the day.

That evening, online, she emailed the ones she knew were directing this operation, and she posted a memo for everyone else to read. "Don't send me any boys." Even if this were real, and she was starting to believe it was - who knew why? - she did not want to do this. This whole experience was crazy. Back then, she thought her co-workers were crazy. Thinking back, she thinks that maybe they thought the same thing about her.

Most of them knew that I didn't know, because some of them worked very hard to teach me. Some of them had laughed and made fun of me for driving and walking all over the place trying to find 'my guy.' I don't blame them for that so much. When I found him, I didn't know how I was going to kick his ass, but I wanted to. And I knew it was more than one. That was kind of funny, ha! But the job part was definitely not funny. Neither was being made those offers when I didn't know why. And I don't even know all of the people that well.

They know so much about me, like how I run around my house naked sometimes. Wow. Some of them made fun of my stomach and my tits. Came up to me at work holding their stomachs, laughing and carrying on. At work. But I don't care about that anymore either. I guess it made them feel better about themselves. They had to know that once I knew my family and friends had seen me naked, knew all the stuff about me, that I didn't give a flip what the rest of the world thought. I even told them that. Duh.

Reckon they figured I'd make like an ostrich and stick my head in the sand. Well, I knew that my bod would still be hangin' out there, ha ha. Doesn't matter. I knew something was going to happen. Read their plans. They still thought I couldn't read. I thought my father could help me. I had so much evidence against them. I knew they didn't know about him. I had to make it down there.