and so I waited in the dark wood
the wind howling, making me a nervous wreck as
my patience grew thin.
where was he?
a howl could be heard in the wind
causing my nails to embed themselves
in the bark of the tree behind me

Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and
choose the sign of your day
The day’s divinity
First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach
in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by it’s quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances.

Guess I should've written it down
Long ago when it had entered my mind
It's  like all the ink bled right out
From the pen I've been ignoring for a while
Almost as if the words got tired of being tired
And walked away from this tunnel of a mind
They dutifully packed up their bags and left
Trudged on into the night
And try as I might now, to place that typewriter
The sounding of the keys sounds hollow
just like the clanging of fake jewellery maybe I've lost it, maybe I never had it
And finally has that realisation dawned
This is all just a rant anyway
I haven't slept properly in too **** long

In the beginning
lovers revel
in newness
creating a map
for future explorations

Time erases novelty
leaving the essence
sometimes strong
often weakened
by familiarity

Could we be this lucky?
Days, weeks, months, years
have not diminished desire
have not reduced love
to senseless rubble

You make me believe
in Fate and Karma
Gentle men
The One
Forever

i want to roam the halls of museums
with you
and float through history
as we make
our own

O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

I always wanted to be a "Bond Woman"
The kind of woman James Bond would want
****, exciting, worldly, mysterious
Bossoms to die for
But no,
I'm a "book woman"
The kind of woman who can recite Emily Dickenson in my sleep
Reading glasses that are eternally falling off my face
Bossoms?
Not so much
When the Bond women are wet,
They look like water goddesses
I look like a drowned rat
Plus my glasses fog up
A blind, drowned rat
I think its safe to say,
I'll never be a "Bond Woman"
I'm a "Book Woman"
And I guess that's ok

Here's to all us "Book Women"