I crawl the floor

Collecting broken glass

To protect feet of those who do not know

Do not care

Whilst rejecting offers of company

As music moves the floor.

Later

When all is quiet

I enter the night

To walk along roads alone.

A bogeyman of myth

Stalks these streets

It's ok

For I am not the prey he seeks

I am not the prey he seeks.

Inside the darkest garden
in this castle of
roots and knots
                  with ancient shadows
                      that come out to dance
                         in consistent moonlit thoughts
where my body starts
                     to swirl and sway
                     my spirit stirring free
inside the bones of
                underground caverns
where I have found
the once –buried remnants
           of me
Here.      
Antiquated magic
            is rediscovered              
next to dark-aged
weapons of layered rust
in the ghosts of the tears
of the collapsing fears
           that quaked the bridges of trust
where the unlikely
traces of self-love
never did really die
and despair in its
quiet torrents
prepares to release and fly
        
Here.          
I embrace the night
               in its fullness,
drink it up
          like temple wine
accepting all the dark within me
letting its light fill me
in vibrations,
              divine
In most scintillating strength,
my inner swords enhanced
in sharpness,
                in potent length
before my armies
                       advance

Here,              
in wild mossy corners
the blackest of berries grow
round and perfect, on
the edge
                     of bursting
revealed only to those who know
that clandestine language
of echoes of loneliness
that wander breathlessly
                           and roam
clutching their essence
                           to hold it safe
over the soil and loam
Now minerals sparkle in the
                       rich, dark earth
atoms of crystal
and stone

Here.
In this darkest
oasis of seeming nothingness
glows a
      single tree
bearing the juiciest
        of fruits
    now dripping
  just for me
and as my hunger
pours up
from the roots
propelling me in sacred trance
I find myself
gazing up in wonder
letting down
          my warrior stance

I slowly take off my armor
freeing up the fullness
of *******, of thighs, of hips
to allow that emotional
         fruit liquid
to nourish me from
core to fingertips
and to catch that ripeness
     about to spill
goddess voices calling
"Yes, woman. Now"
I, with reverence
     with honor
take on that sacred vow
tip back my head
let the quartz-snapped
air into my lungs
let that liquid
slake my ache
and,
in moaning silence
grace my
     tongue

Yoke smiles
And twinkles from the eyes
Blend them together
Whisk, whisk, whisk
Till it all bubbles to
A perfect frothy fluffiness -

Heat some love
And tender words
Add fruit of human kindness
Mix, mix, mix
Some rinds of laughter
Blend it all well, in folds

Cup this
Into lightly buttered hands
Of giving

Then warm the heart
And put it in to bake

See happiness rise to a perfect gold

A simple recipe - the soufflé of life

Crisp outside
Molten and soft happiness within

Heavy chested I breathe
as the moon whitewashes the night.

The season is changing
and in the wind is the vapor of hyacinth
in the thick of which
the glowworms drink the nectar of night.

They have no philosophy and I have many
like while they dance just for the sake of life
my mind enveloped in obscurity
has shackled my feet and clipped my wings.

I wonder if the glowworms have a mind
that knows when they dance
they have an audience.

Maybe the stars know the same way
when they twinkle.