she came this morning during morning mediation with chanting and toning (shimmering beauty) we snuggled and spoke of sunlit memories and private gardens (naked in the buttercups) we conjured a place to dwell filled with peace and flowers (art-making and altars) she toned and we chanted peace to all beings (including ourselves) May all hearts…
“A great many men’s gratitude is nothing but a secret desire to hook in more valuable kindnesses hereafter.” ~Francois de La Rochefoucauld Today is Thanksgiving here in the USA and I’m seeing all kinds of gratitude posts on Ye Old Internet. I went to find a nice quote about gratitude and saw the one above….
my capacious heart (open) full moon setting at dawn my capricious heart (following) leaves swirling in cold wind my tenacious heart (wounded) embracing a chameleon sky
liminal woman peering into unseen spaces (swimming) stripping bare hidden agendas (treasure in truth) delighting in the scent of autumn and violent rain crashing against (everything) stirring love and spice into her soup (and life itself) greeting the light embracing the darkness (like a lover) liminal woman seeing only circles smiling at the boxes (illusory)
reading her my poetry about a man with a swagger ‘neath red flame chandeliers (and comparing notes) circular narratives about life and gypsies and making sense of men (and ourselves) a text to her lover in a moment of mischief fueled with red wine (and some flirting) “I think she’s trying to get me drunk,”…
your three to my one the amber and the red twenty five cents and a vibrating tilt-a-whirl you spoke of carnivals and dark, dusty paths that lead to where we need to be (to peeking behind the boards where darts come towards our hearts) popcorn with truffle oil meaningless meetings and Hoffa screwing and killing…