She led him piece by piece down to her water of life,
and even though he knew she was possibly quite crazy,
he didn't mind at all,
because sanity was never his anyway.

She fed him tea and poetry,
and the wonders of her endless thought,
sweeter than honey,
a different kind of bliss,
an ecstasy, a loving bed of like minds and theology.

They drifted on ripples of euphoria,
with a kind of nakedness that opens eyes to the unknown,
and teaches the independent heart
how not to recover from the blending of souls.

In the passing of time, even the most ancient memory
won't fail to recall her living water,
the loving bed,
the poetry infused with tea
and her beautiful crazy mind.

She had wrestled with many a serpent that had wrapped its slinky body around hers, tightening its grip for death, squeezing every drop of life from her.   And each time escape had appeared to her by a slim chance, luck was there in the moment.   And there were wolves too, with voices oozing charm, dressed in style, in the woolly warmness of sheep, but hungry dogs, dribbling, waiting impatiently to devour a good meal.   She had run from them all, breathless, wide-eyed, heart pounding within the chase.

They wanted life....her life, desiring those beautiful things.   Needing to be full of all the good that was in her, to enable them to shine, as she did.

But things have changed, she scans the world with new eyes, in these untrustworthy days.   And now the living dead can only afford to hiss and growl in the darkness.   Not once will they get close enough, to lick the salt, and taste how delicious she is.   Not close enough, to hold on and wring her dry, not any more.

She sees them coming now, even before the day dawns.   She hears their mischievous desires, moan and rumble like distant thunder on a cool breeze.   It is always the same, as each one approaches; a cheesy grin, the freak in disguise, with its deep inhale of breath, ready to spin the hallucinogenic tale of their lives.

Their blatant nakedness wants to make her break out in a girlie giggle.   But she holds it in, stops it with a little finger against her lip.  Shines a sophisticated womanly smile, and asks quietly, "Who are you?"    Then turns her back, walks far away.   Never looking behind, not even a thought of it.  No fighting, no running.   And her heart remains quiet within.

Three words....and they are nothing.   Ignored, to complete disintegration.   Those mutants who prowl, to destroy her beautiful world.   Slain with a question they can never answer.   For even they do not know who they are.

Her light shines, just a little brighter.   Life goes on – life lives in her.

I write of spring in autumn
of summer in winter
I like to be where I'm not
to cheat on time
fantasy
is so much better