Caught in a puddle of sunlight,
unable to move...
I sip my tea
and watch the moon.

Go deep.
Dig deeper.
Deeper still.

She was a delightful mix
of sweetness and insanity.
I'm not saying she was crazy,
rather
her acquaintance with reality
was a passing one.
She lived in her own little world
and if she liked you
she'd invite you in.
Her heart was pure,
her body less so.
She embraces the world...
and would you too
should she take
the fancy.

Every year this time
at the ending cycle of the sun...
hope walks again
along pathways of the heart.

An ancient dream
roots unknown...
a newborn
shall save the world.

The sun arcs south,
the bottom of the year...
a mother heavy with child
seeks her shed, a manger on high.

Three wise ones, three kings
brush the dust of long lost history off
its that time of year again...
time to rise and follow the star.

Shepherds alone on the hillside
sheep bleat, angels sing
forever witnesses to a miracle or a dream
a newborn saves the world.

Her thoughts were on eternity
as she took me softly, warmly
between her thighs.
No goddess this
but a woman in her hour.

You really don't think
you're just your ego,
do you?
Reality isn't very solid.
just a mist of atoms,
themselves mostly empty space.
Reality is what we think it is.
At one time,
the stars were the campfires
of the ancestors.

Out of lust...
Out of desire,
Carefully, lovingly  
she chose the finest,
most supple leathers.
Length and width she measured them...
to size each finished braid.
Four she made, each stitched
with tearing eyes.
Weaving them together
she bit her lip imagining...
their sting on her buttocks.