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Natasha Bame Dec 2015
She was like cayenne and honey,
indecisive as feather bones.
Fine as silk-wool.
Heel pad avoiding ground like lava to playground.
Swift like caress, seeking loneliness.
Natasha Bame Sep 2015
There isn't a hum compatible,
littered with jet planes and sirens and door slam salutations.
I escape slumber.

Maybe I've just forgotten to close the window.
My mind remains an accessible outlet,
attentive at worst,
a meticulous observation; noticing the slightest bit of dirt under the nail of your index finger.
You may not even trace the outlines of my cheek by the time I have swam deep inside the caverns of your collarbone.
I have to convince myself not to drown.  
Cue curiosity.
The fabric hanging from your body does not prevent me from taking a photograph of your anatomy,
I perfect the direction from which your strength begins.
An indented landmark in your sternum, located in a space that creates an appropriate resting place for a traveling palm.
                                                    I should remember to close the window...
Natasha Bame Sep 2015
Bathed in moon beams,
                                         I saw you.
You stood there without conviction,
As if the intention of your existence could keep the universe from falling apart.  
My hands won't steady,
                                          the thought of giving away precious pieces of myself is transient.  Quick, similar to a kiss that has become a habit, magic; never knowing if the next will ever be the last.
    But my heart swings like pendulum,  chest-heavy, hesitation.  Polishing every tool I can teach myself to use as an excuse to protect what's underneath.
   You promise,
                        I pretend as though you didn't enchant me while I watch you walk away.
Natasha Bame Sep 2015
Fingertip memories carve through me.
  Neck nape scratch; Shimmering sheet of liquid glass, imitation.
   As if the perfection of its surface were too unbearable to stand;
     You were forced to embed your signature.
                  While my marrow froze,
                                    I let you.
You became fossilized fragments of what has been, but never will be.  
The past has been put into a capsule we will not open, in order to preserve the sparse instants of sacredness we fear will never again reveal themselves.
                                             The imprint still aches as I attempt to regenerate.
Natasha Bame Sep 2015
Our ancient lineage contains folds encapsulating hidden wisdom
unfurling at the weathered edges.  
Curling inwards in attempt to direct us to the origin.  
Deposits of insight lie within our bloodline,
spiraling beside genetic codes we have carried through lifetimes.  
The quickening has arrived,
through comprehension acceleration and universal language of Love translations.  
Verdant roots nourishing, allowing spiritual nutrients to enhance our brilliance.  
We are
Telluric creatures:Natural teachers
essential to the transfusion of energy between the moon and the sun
We are
the ones, responsible for our is-ness magnification
outgrow foundations we have constructed to keep ourselves from seeing past this self inflicted ceiling.  
It has withheld us from feeling anything beyond this consumeristic dogma implanted in our society,
force feeding us its enigmatic conditioning.  
Detach pre-determined thinking to allow this ever-flowing journey of contemplating mysteries,
abolishing worries of fear in the becoming.  
It takes courage to assert ones self beyond what we have been taught,  
to unlearn ready made thought and rewrite our own scriptures.
Our ligaments are sacred scrolls awaiting our blessing, allowing them to unfold  
leaving lacuna spaces for existence to experience traces of our essence.  
Children of mother earth in collaboration with father time,
the genesis of this breath has appointed us as divine,
intertwined into a perfected geometric composition, we are creation curators of this generation
woven into synthesis,
mastered with our gift of presence,
god-head recollection.
Natasha Bame Sep 2015
Terra firma sprout micro cosmic breath.
Birth of opportunity, a shift from dis-ease towards immunity.
From ill tongued venom come rain drop detoxification, through the depths of these roots immeasurably extended.
Elixir drip clarity, sweet kilig remedy.
Natasha Bame Sep 2015
Here I stand,
naked as the moon.
Denude of childish tendencies to protect the ego's fragile skin.
Palms turned towards the continuum of space to expose the souls purity,
eradicate insecurities.
The sky steeps me in a soothing womb of chamomile and honey,
abloom of sweet, scattered opalescence as freckles upon her face
interlaced with familiarities.
Extending conceptualized singularity to experience eons of unified grace.
Anahata awaken, caress of winds breath
frolics across the topography of my being,
releasing the god-essence.
Activated through remembrance
that which is, was, and always will be.
Instilled in every cell, attune harmony.
Conduit, co-existing as student, teacher, observer, conductor,
Wash away layers of the veil to reveal.
Acknowledge, accept, expand, contract.
Embodiment of cyclic sacredness.
She and I mirrored images,
reflected consciousness,
alchemical catalyst catapaulting immense distances inside an instant.
Elder, mother, kin, within.
Ammorea flame ablaze, raise sensory vibrations to these
potent mysteries.
Project positivity,
what is given is received, this is my prayer.
My offering.
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