loving a woman feels like poetry feels like the sunrise on the coldest night feels like warmth and pleasure from the divine it feels like softness like love like lust like being in love with your best of friends like closest connections like feeling the spirit of the divine feminine coursing through me all at once it makes me feel alive and the happiest to be me .

As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed like gentle rain amidst sun showers, she appears as if on cue

Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
a flight of fancy fanning fast, she's a fabulous marvel of beauty, true on true

"I exist in two places, here and where you are." says the butterfly to me "
"I am you and you are I and that is why. " (pause)... we are both free !

She soars to heaven as if she were an angel of grace with wings of lace  
and when I get there I will see that God and her have just changed place.  

She drinks in the moment as if no one is watching her and so do I
and from now on I will live like her, until the day I die ...

I'll land on each soft place I find and know that I am not alone,      
over by that sunny spot I'll sit and wait, until He finally calls me home.

My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May
refracting light from every angle, it holds life's leeway
Suffused with fragments of love,  I can be warm as night    
filled with a sense of awe, when you tilt me to the light,  
                                 I feel just right  
My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May !
Fragmented beauty encased in bursting beams of afterglow
if I follow only yesterdays, life can soon appear surreal  
Infused with an outside world that can often smite  
I choose to live inside my own reflective colors,  
                                           Always, in the light   !
Fragmented beauty encased in bursting beams of afterglow
My heart is a monument to all that I have lived and known
changing and bending with every curving path
it has been overused and "Inter-diffused" many times  
like this mosaic piece of art I call "stained glass window "  
                                I am a,   "Pièce de ré·sis·tance " ( a work of art)
My heart is a monument to all that I have lived and known
My heart is a stained glass window, fragile as a Rose in May
When I pray with it, it remembers to give thanks, in every way.