We're in the sun and I'm moving from your mouth
to your jeans, we're watching the stars and we're moving
We're going down the green boulevard and we're cruising
you speak Romanian, I speak you, we're going to far
and moving to the beat as one and the wind blows the hair
in my face and I got news for you, I can see you just clearly
as I could before, carefully, barely hanging on and catching movies

I can't keep away from your kiss, back and forth want to feel
the rest of you and all of you can't wait to catch you all alone
we're in the sun and I'm moving from your mouth
to the hole in your heart, tell me how you feel and who you are
you speak barely, your rhythmic breaths tell me all I need to know
waste the day and spend all the time in your pockets, all alone
floating around your head and hanging midair in your palms like
a red balloon

you might be repressed if
the universe tells you to
buy hi-vibe crystalline
heal, align, energize
and rock her
holy alive

if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
                     of the miracle of
                           this Spring deluge
                                unfurling forth                
                            from deep within  
                        the crusty dermis
          of this sublunar territory:
          hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
          intermingling their hues
          of mauve and lilacs,
                              as well as the color of sky
                               blooms of the succulents
                    popping open
                    in celebratory dance
                                   in wild fuschia
                                sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
          hollyhocks of magenta,
           veils of bougainvellia, too
                    sweetpea clusters
             curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove

And I feel like a goddess
              of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
         I cup the buds of blooms,
                                      of nectar
to inseminate my dark
       allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
         the atoms
of  new
               start
unfolding bit
by tender
bit

Stars sprinkle the inky night sky
Like crumbs of diamonds on a still, midnight ocean.
I am not afraid to be here, alone,
In the vastness of twilight.
For these few moments, time is as long
As the space between those stars,
And as empty, too.
The uncertainty that sunrise will follow.
As sure as the sun is destined to rise everyday,
When there's only darkness surrounding you,
Pierced slightly by the silvery glow of moonlight...
You're all alone and helpless.
You only have the vague hope that the sun will return.
And as I sit here now, star-gazer,
Faceless nomad on the damp grass;
I feel immortal, and I am afraid
That I will always be alone with the stars.

April 16, 2017
Dear You:
         When I think of you, there is this gap of space unexplained. Almost like when you have to stand up during a spiritual chant or sacred ceremony. Or when you look up at the sky and realize how very small we actually are in this Universe of the Divine. When you see how the half full moon cups so beautifully in tangerine glow across your section of sky, and how the clarity of stars imprint the constellations of the human heart.

    I guess what I am actually saying is, you are so much more to me than a female *** *****. You are the sacred. The down and *****. As earthy and tangible as it gets. The source of rolling waves to exquisite pleasure. A pivotal and unique part of my feminine self in the form of the mystical, the beatific, the mysterious.The portal for the source of Life itself.

But let us start at the beginning.

I remember you, at the tender age of 5. Exploring the mysteries of my own body, under the covers where no one could see. At about age 8 or 9 I worked you over so well that a small explosion ensued, and I was utterly  stunned, thinking that perhaps I had done something wrong?
I dared not ask
a  soul.

Only later (but not much later..when the red flow started) did I read about the subject "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and later "Changing Bodies, Changing Lives". (Thank you, more open-minded stepmom :))

As a teen, I was lucky enough to have amazingly progressive ***-ed at my NYC school. AIDS was rampant and our ***-ed teacher, an ex-priest, had us rolling condoms down bananas in no time. How we laughed and turned the color of beets. And watching "The Miracle of Life" was pretty amazing.

By then I had a very good relationship with you, Little Miss V. I stroked and coaxed you out of your shell any opportunity I could. My cherry was intact, but popping and bubbling over was fantastic.

You are connected to the trials and tribulations, as well as the highs and lows, of first love and love in general, as I discovered in time. I was exposed to the vulnerable, the tender, the painful. I realized that your intense physicality was indelibly connected to my emotional source, veins mapped and held together my strings of blood and discharge. Somewhere, I needed to protect you, and myself, to know when to give freely and when to hold back.

You were the gateway to motherhood, to the slippery sliding exit from the womb of my prodigy. The intense pain and wonder of it all. The place where it all began, the result being three gorgeous and sassy love bugs. "What, Mommy? I came out of there?"

You are now the woman goddess source of me more than ever, and despite the powerful pain and ****** rivers each month, I am thankful. Thankful to be a woman, to be alive, for the inter-woven magic of the ecstasy and ardency of emotion. So much better to feel it all.

My womb with a view.
My moon's tides, ebbs and flows.
My candied oyster, succulent shellfish.
My pretty little cat.
My aching, drooling, dripping swamp of longing and loneliness.
My jewel of enigmatic darkness.
I will never take the words "****" and "*****" negatively, and can turn it right around on those attempting to do so.

For you hold the links to my heart, to my soul. You are my little nesting fuzzy creature, worthy of kisses and appreciation. You are my internal bomb ticking and ready to blow, my slick, hot bud poised to flower.

And, oh, how you flower.

k, Little Miss, V…Ciao for now.
Love, ***, the woman-goddess-love –light source you own