Treasure

belly-dance-323313_1920.jpgYou are a jewel

within the treasure chest

of my heart.

You are my topaz,

set in crushed red velvet.

You are my secret

that I have locked away.

A forbidden love,

too decadent

to reveal.

 

You charmed me

like a snake

in the dark ethereal woods

of Vrindavan.

 

I was a curvy goddess

of ruby lips,

creamy moonstone breasts,

liquid gold

between my thighs,

who got fucked

by a god

in a dream

and awoke

to an empty bed.

 

Yet my tears

become stones.

Wondrous precious stones.

 

They shine within me,

opalescent with hope.

A whisper, kyanite flecked,

a rose quartz-hued ache,

obsidian longing,

black and deep.

 

Hidden beneath my clothes,

I wear

an alabaster cameo

carved in your image.

The memory of you

pressed against my warm skin.

I can still feel

your mouth on mine,

can still hear

the faraway sound

of your approach,

your amorous

flutesong.

 

 

 

 

 

Dance of Von Teese

img_2384I was a shape

that waits

to be carved

with a sculptor’s knowing hands,

emerging from alabaster white

into sharp relief,

bright scandalous technicolor,

cherries in the snow.

 

This is who I really am.

 

My breasts adorned with crystals,

my hips overflowing

from the curvaceous narrowing of my waist

into abundant fans of feminine plushness,

punctuated by a skimpy g-string of jewels;

I am everything

that I was never supposed to be:

a woman with power.

 

Glamour was a spell,

sensuality a witches brew.

I became a fashionable bitch

who walked the catwalk of her own shadow;

femme fatale.

 

I embraced the dark goddess

who lived inside me.

By the heat of my careful alchemy,

lines blurred between fantasy and reality,

dream and life.

Transformed,

I danced across the stage of life,

big energy, woman writ large,

a high octane Sorceress

soaring like a star

through the heavens.

Hibiscus Dreams

img_7676

It was

a fever state,

hot and delirious;

being in love.

 

Love was a febrile hallucination, a trick of the mind.

Lurid colors, vivid imagery, rich emotion,

desperate beauty;

a haunting vision

that can’t be unseen.

 

Our bodies were tumid fruit

that ripened

in the sultriness

of love’s summer.

We gorged ourselves on textures and tastes;

the enchanting sweetness of lust,

the decorous tartness

of impatient longing.

The sumptuous spice

of passionate encounters.

The bitter sourness of ugly hurts,

dark momentsĀ that crystallized

into insidious weeds

and took root in the space between us;

thatĀ gave the kiss of death

to our hibiscus dreams.

 

In the cool blue light

of nighttime,

I feel inside myself

for you,

caressing the empty spaces

where your memory lies;

teasing at the edges of loss,

touching the pleasure that remains.

 

I blossom endlessly with wanting,

love’s eternal flower,

red petaled,

bright and pretty,

subtly fragrant.

I am one

who dreams of you:

the bee

that stung me.

We Watched A Falling Star

 
 I was so tender-hearted 

when I loved you,

years ago in a Northern hamlet

by a glacial lake.
My hopes for love 

were still intact then

noble and sacred edifices

constructed from an ancient narrative;

grand yet vulnerable 

like the Buddhist statues at Bamiyan

before they were destroyed.
We watched 

that star fall together,

one night when we sat

in thoughtful companionship by the lake edge.

Deer crept stealthily through the pines behind us

and we watched it

swirl across the sky 

like 4th of July fireworks,

then plummet.
Now my heart knows

what can happen

to majestic things.
Though I no longer hope

for you,

I still 

remember

everything.

Oestrus, This Birth

 

 I made love to the desert,

to the pinyon pines,

to juniper smoke and dried lavender,

planted my seeds there

in the springtime snow.


I sang to blue cornmeal

and Mother Spirits.

I danced to the gnarled riffs of blues guitar,

cradled myself in the music of bluegrass hymns,

slept with the ancestors, 

huddled in woven blankets.

We laughed through hardships,

warmed our hearts with stories.


We were native to each other.


Wildflowers 

of a graceful future 

blossomed from my womb,

intrepid dreams with deep bulbs

for roots.


I left these plantings,

these beautiful parts of myself,

like frozen buds,

there, on tribal land,

at the peak 

of a sacred mountain.


They tended to themselves 

in my absence.

They grew, 

with inchoate longings.


They were souls

that shimmered in the high desert starry night sky

waiting to be formed

by the magic 

of love.


They were medicine spells cast 

like lines

in the subtle poetry 

of the otherworld.


This year,

destiny bloomed,

a green shoot

in springtime.

The seed of your body 

nestling inside my rich and fertile ground;

my sweet scent 

of geraniums flooding your senses.

I am thawed,

warmed

by your raging heat.


This birth

will come

to be.








His Dream

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Pua Nani. I had a beautiful dream with you in it. I had to fall through some sort of ice, maybe like sugar glass, to land in a velvety world, like petals on a flower. You were in that world. I saw others but they were slightly out of focus. The wondrous world had all the beauty of this world without the angst, I felt. I did not venture beyond the ground I stepped onto. Quiet laughters and animal sounds, sky deep and milky and still breathtaking. I held you in an intimate way and loved you. The sheets were like smoke wafting nowhere but all around our bodies. Just before dawn, I awoke. Where is this world? Good morning, my beautiful friend.