Merry meet.

I hadn’t seen her in years. She had gone off to her life on the east coast. Even though I had met her briefly but yet she is so memorable and I had hope that we might play. so I sit in the car waiting for her to show up with her friend Cayenne. I watch the rear-view to catch them coming up the street. They turn the corner of my block with smiles. I think, “smiles are a such a blessing.” I wait until they come into touching distance and open the car door, heave my broken bulk up, reaching for cane and turning slowly to greet her after so many years. Her masters program sedentary study hall roundness has melted, she is a young goddess, a stunning brunette where a halting cute girl had once stood. Our eyes meet and that thing people talk about happens, unexpectedly we find common heart and soul. My hopes at crass seduction are smashed as my breath catches and the world falls quickly to an erotic stop. We have words for this but they do not say what happens as erotic dimension shifts us in to an almost and yet more than psychic click. I am caught in the beauty of her smiling eyes as we lock the world to a halt. Both suddenly know that this is more important than everything else around us, not sure, we hug and kiss, chatting and me feeling a now unsure comprehension we walk and talk, stealing quick secret looks at the other one – “Are you sure of this” I wonder? Not willing to go all natural and fall to the sidewalk as the wanton animal inside us both is telling us to do we remain human. We get back in the car and go for a neutral zone. Pizza, god food indeed, and when our table mates give us a tiny moment alone it happens again. The world shrinks to an eggshell, no-one and nothing exists with us for a timeless microsecond in which our souls are bared and connection opens with a clear torrent of ” You there, I want you, now, here. Everybody else go away.” Our boundaries have fallen and as adults in public we must compose this thing so as friends re-seat we blink and then we are again two people, shyly hoping that this will grow and become more physically real.
I chat – just wanting to say, “let’s just go fuck.” but she has no time and it would be rude to our friends and partners. So I chat and – heart in throat – propose to maybe meet again in some silly way and she says yes. Anticipation rushes to my head, dizzying and erotic I am breathless with hope to find yet another of the hidden carnal creatures who feels that we can become something else, something sacred and joyous. Something for the gods of the fields to savor as prelude to their feast.

Glistening

Slipping slowly to ground I moan the name and reach to myself. I miss her skin, hungry for lips and voice. Blood throbs rigid, the memory of teasing touch, smooth lips tasting thighs slipping hot flesh seeking new flavor. Grasses high and soft, earthen bed under, I stroke quietly listening to whispering tall soft grass. A gasp stills my questing palm from awaited kiss. Quiet, small me moves toward breathless wonder of whom, where and can I see. Parted grass finds her, verdant earthen lover, roots waiting under soft moon. Rampant sliding, dryad still and cool takes gnarled thrust open and wanton, grasping moist bark gasping spend in mossed roots of wonder. Moaning like syllables, striking tongues match, cloth sublimes in ever-lost moments, joined, our skins slide to union. We are watched; she, wanton, watches back, hotter now, feeling ever and again more than full she whispers the story along my neck, telling me we are now for him. Our gift is her lust for him. She holds the cradled earth always, watching, aroused root spending life into story, spring lives again and again as we lift ourselves to wonder at whom, what is there. Liquid sand holds us separate, doubled and again, watching from inside – our watcher becomes us. Time spirals, soft feather touch rouses mud to motion as gasping dryad’s leaves tell stories of sunlit stone to tears of roots in earth. Sand tells time, glistening as it falls in rippling reflected light, the earth breathes in wonder.

Fused

I have the words inside me that say what I love and appreciate about you and that you are in my/our life but they are too small to write. Most all of them have one syllable and are made of letters that if written down would ruin the paper they would be on because all the ink in the world would run through my pen to fill in the blank space even one serif would curl to. These words are sounds too, unutterables which we approach with our mouths and bodies when we are connected and touch completes them. Words that mean things like love but are more important, more decisive, more universal than simply love can say. We are boundless single Mandelbrot syllables that peal out to universal understanding about what it means to be us. Our definition of what it means to be human is felt by whispering small sounds that are senseless, sleepy tiny noises that DNA understands but cannot explain. These sounds take our energy and add it together into something greater, something bigger than our simple world. This endless language is only for us, only for those who are chosen to feel this way. If we could write it down no one else would understand, all the translators and rosettas in the universe would not help, because they are our noise, only for us. Sacred we keep these words, we keep these words for us only, for they provide us succor and endless joy about who we are to each other and what we are in the world. Without them I would not exist, they define me as the spark that keeps moving, the fire of hope. They remind me of you and without them you would not exist and the universe would cry tears of lost time. When alone, I am breathless when I speak them aloud, my body always curved in space, their gravity so important that without these words we would not exist. Without these tiniest of ancient noises the world would be still. They are the beginning of all, the first prayer of greeting and the last prayer of leave taking. The rest of them are inside us, always unable to be spoken of or described but waiting, still there. Until our search understands them we must use them and teach them and hope that someday, somewhere, someone else might learn the power of their invocation and then the world will know that the even the least of these words can change everything. We hope that in time the other missing sounds will be known again and we simple beings will be blessed with the grace of the use of the real power known inside but not express-able by our noise or scratchings. Just three of these sounds are even able to be written down, they are known by the universe to be the least powerful words of all the lost languages ever known. But you and I know that the least of words when said in truth, together, in a particular order, become the beginning of the most powerful sound ever heard – I Love You.

When we are together my fingers smile as I lay next to you, in heat again for your touch, your scent, a look, a perfect small sound. The slip of your skin is beyond my hand’s ability to understand just how good it is to touch you. Your bold emotion keeps me maniacally focused on your breathing with hope for some shred of knowledge that will allow me to learn the secret of making you come so hard your total sexual devotion will become mine for this moment, all mine to make it so you can come again and again in loss of understanding as to how and why it feels so good, so innately right to let go, to feel openly, voluptuously aroused. Feel it, I want you to feel the thing that’s in you, on you, mounting you again and again in raw wanton need, the thing that you think about when no one knows, when even you don’t know what it is. Your ever wanting need for the best, the biggest, the most complete sensation of cramped and cramping hard clasping crotch, hungry needy greedy open orifice willing to take all of everything to satisfy the endless bottomless, drooling thing that you are in rut. I want you, want you every time I come. Every time my body bows up in solo supplication to your memory I cry and whisper your name, goddess of wants, flesh drives me, your least attention to me leaves me in trembling want of your ass, your skin, your heart, your wet hot soul. I want to always leave you pooled in wonder and exhaustion, disheveled and drooled out available for whatever happens next – agape indeed. When you are not near I invent you in every way again and again so I will not perish from the lack of your touch, your warmth, your most amazing lips and skin. Your endless deep open guileless eyes, receptors of reflection, gaze in total darkness with complete comprehension of exactly what I am. Reach for me, any part of me is yours. Put me on you, in you, I want it, want to, with you, now. Your wetness a salve to my tongue heals my very flesh with soaked connection, heating my soul with satisfaction that your soft contractions of dripping completion are fundamental to the existence of all – I miss you.

Wiccan Warriors

Tears fall from flesh made of seas older than beyond dreams, ever dropping to ground, ever gathered and spilled to ocean. Gravity defiant, rising to wind beyond the sky, heated by light yet unknown the mixed tears of child and whale, grandmother’s pie and warriors alike join in scudding tear water clouds. Ever renewed the cycle forms, falling onto cold stone mountains – tricklets into pools and ponds to run and drip to salve dry parched earth. Lakes and rivers of tears swell to rise to my endless thirsty mouth. Rain falls from sky as tears from my eyes. Un-owned they mark our dusty flesh, tracking death and birth, struggle, pain and joy – I cried them last, now they are yours, past and tomorrow they belong to legion. All of life, and death, all of time is found through our tears, emotion’s common mark of the singular well of struggle, shared across worlds by ancestor and newborn. Rain falls from sky, tears from our eyes, drunk by oceans beyond thought, nurturing both spirit and flesh. Always and again mountains breathe warm sunlight – weeping for our fallen and lost.

NB:

This piece wandered around my room in two chunks until the day I found out the VA had approved the Pentacle for use on veterans headstones. It then forged itself and I quenched it in my silly old-man tears. It is dedicated to all of us who have served and more so all who have fallen or will fall on behalf of our sacred oath to the Goddess Libertas.

Vitas, Libertas et apetito felicitas.