singing bowl
rosewater and tears
fingers pressed on tender skin
the xx
our union
burst of sandalwood
in moment of surrender
candelight
shimmering
a shower of sweat
and whispers of devotion
morning light
Sometimes I wish I was on my horse and sometimes I wish I was anywhere but here
At least once a week, we drop off big sis at school early and go to a cafe nearby to do some freewriting or drawing. As we were crossing the street to enter the cafe today, my youngest and I waited for a shiny, black Corvette to park. It was extremely loud as the owner,…
Outside there is a thin wind flirting with the trees it has teased the curtains into dancing; I keep time in my head. Memorizing the seasons, I touch things as if my fingers will learn them again; weary of explanations, at mid-life I am more comfortable with the truth. Outside, the mountain ash hangs heavy…
in bed with thoughts of pleasure dripping deep inside lusting for morning coffee
I have learned that when people are determined to see me through a dark lens, they won’t be talked out of it. I have, however, learned that it’s their lens not my truth. That’s a good feeling.
One thing I know for sure is I am all done courting longing. What is mine is coming to me. What is not has fallen away. I bless this.