silken honey dew essence ,
natural bioluminescence , Aura pulsates in time to the  flowing blood veins ,

fingertip lips taste like lightning just before it flicks the ground with his forked tongue -

stomach tingle , heart dip , drop.
lose it all , lose it again -
transfer the same -
enlarge the plane,

feel the vibrations of:  never the same , again. Expansive minds roll on ...


                                                           ­          ~~~*

Escaped moan is free, darkness turns to light.
the whispers,
   kept between you and me.

Animal instinct , Divine instinct

        slips in.
                          slips out.

carving chasms and canyons out of skin...a glint of menace  and copious amounts of mischief dance in his eyes , like a snake charmer sashaying the imaginary into existence.
                        
                      the space dew tastes....like raspberry Champagne bubbles...


the energy flows are opening now,  to handle the cosmic ******...

one must prepare -
an untrained mind , might combust -
or worse yet , attract the dijins for foolish endeavors into treasure map waters...

Sensi bows - game , set , match.

Practice makes Perfect..

as dawn turns to noon into dusk
and the day truly begins
in the winter, anyway
where most of your time is spent in poor lighting
and frost

but the moon hangs high in the sky
if only briefly, as a contrast
and i've always wondered
as the clouds pass in front of the moon

if they begin to miss each other
even just for a moment
despite the fact that they know that they'll encounter each other tomorrow
if the routine is so comfortable
that they get nervous just thinking about it changing at all

that one day
they may never experience that comfort again
the one consistency in this crazy world
yearning for the clamminess of each other's hands
if only for a brief moment
just to relive those cool nights once again
pushing for more and more
but when you feel like the potential is gone
mirrors cracked, hearts sinking, warmth gone
even an unpleasant sensation
becomes good enough
to die for

The camel she rode was doddering, on its last legs,
the way she petted it, all along the caravan's route
made them think that she wouldn't bear its inevitable fate.
Not loosing her cool, she gets down, views the looming desert,
others are puzzled, unfathomable is her mind,
alacritous she is, draws her sabre, cuts open the camel, with her deft hands
water in the desert is more precious than love,
that exceeds the prescribed time limit, her act speaks aloud,
no one moves, stunned not even knowing what they feel,
then realize, in a desert tender feelings are short-lived, like new blooms.
What a desert human life has become of late
in silence they contemplate as they leave behind the camel's carcass

At first, I felt like an invader. A trespasser in these spirits’ home.
The stillness swirled around me, as if it were trying to dizzy me away.
The tombstones didn’t want me there. I was abhorrent.

But then, I felt a kindling inside of me.
And as I sat in solitude under the withered old tree between the graves at 2am,
I couldn’t help but feel like the tombstones were my friends.
I couldn’t help but feel like a tombstone myself.

All I was was a symbol for what I had once been, a memory of who I once was.
What was inside of me, though, was just ashes of the past.
Sometimes people visited, dropping off a flower of hope or love or anguish,
But once that flower died, I was dead.

I started to cry.
I cried for these people, these new friends of mine.
I cried for their pasts.
I cried for my own.

And in that moment, I realized,
I was meant to be a tombstone.
People were meant to visit my grave. People were meant to cry for me.
I wasn’t meant to have a happy life. I was meant to have a memorable death.
I was meant to transform into a tombstone, for the world to visit and cry for.

And that was okay with me.

{alaska}