Rising from the
womb of the Earth
something is being
stirred inside me.

Could there be anything
more sensually satisfying
than a stew
laced with the
romance of
crushed roses?

Slowly, wrapping
around my tongue,
savouring each bite,
I feast with each nibble
peppered heat
spiced with the
woody caress
of cinnamon;
An invitation
to pause in
pleasure

Soft apricots
pulsing with
sweet nectar
explode with
the essence of
The Goddess
sending a wave
of warm bliss
into the cauldron
of my belly.

Satiated,
tasting the
last kiss of
Summers rich
harvest, I rest.

~
Sun drips
on leaves

not the backyard variety
but the trembling kind

the kind
that weld night-time
intermissions to
the roof of the mouth

sonnet-filled
evaporation
reveals
the timely concealment of
a very, weary
inanimate object
at the brink

just enough hip
to be woman

just enough wild
to be frontier
~

Bewitching hour..
And the thought of you
taking my words in
has it dripping down the sides
as I stroke..

Building up for the fourth time tonight
in the thoughts of you being
open..
and naked..
and near

I pull you on top of me
and those beautiful hips  of yours
begin to move..
Mouth to swollen *******,
hands under your thighs
as I lift you  up

And then  slowly
ease you back down..
your beautiful luscious,  clenching
down on to my shaft  so tightly

     As its liquid  juices
     come forth, in praise

We are empty,
Half naked.
Our bodies meet the eye,
The room is quiet,
Sacred.

You slowly walk,
Our eyes talk,
Your lips,
They quiver.

Your voice,
Makes me shiver.

I am smaller,
My body polluted in sweat.

For one magical move ,
And I,
Am now undressed.

I think you may suspect the rest.

So we made love and flew up into the sky
Where the clouds caressed our shimmering bodies and the stars welcomed us home.
There we stayed, resting...
In silent ecstasy as the universe pulsated with the heartbeat of every soul
Not a sound was heard
As celestial bodies moved in silent ancient accord...

"It is time," We said... at long last
"To return to that place from long ago
Where all is not as it should be
Where confusion holds
And fear abides."

"We must return there,
To walk amongst those who would know the truth
And tell them of the beauty behind the veil."

Fashion’s symbolic sensuality draws eyes, stir passions and maybe even resentments!  =]

Of course, maybe you’re above worldly conceits, above fashion. YOU, go through life as unaware as sinless Adam and you’re excessively handsome, or pretty, obviously.

But for the rest of us - fashion is the medium of our beauty and God created Paris for fashion.

We’re pretending we’ve come to Paris (our immediate, pandemic safety-pod-family) for a family reunion - but REALLY, we’re on safari - a freshmen, college-wear, “back to school,” ensemble hunt (for meeeeeeeeeeee!).

Step 1 (there’s only 1 step) - go to the Rue Saint-Honoré.

This year, I like-like Anna Molinari - most of the ready-to-wear daily-trash I snapped-up is hers - all hers. It didn’t start out that way - but she sould me on an uncharted course at first sight.

Other designers seem to be pushing old-lady-looking floral prints this season. Eeuw! Why?? DIAF.

My gran-mère (grandmother) told me - 6 days ago - as she attempted to tame my run-away hair: “You need to be unpredictable, petite beauté, not some comely young automaton. Then everyone will find you interesting and watch to see what you do next.”

Thank you, gran-mère - I’ll settle for looking interesting any time.

Last night, I was exploring sensuality
******* an inkling at the basis of reality
Nibbling the earlobe of the next global catastrophe
Can you smell the Earth as she moans in total ecstasy?
The Universe reciprocates and ******* a galaxy
We're all in this together
And not inconsequentially

I’d like to think that your ways
are the air, the winds.
I am the water you can move, and carry mists of me with you,
though brief and fleeting
effervescent,
though you can’t see me there sometimes,
I am felt in you. I am breathed through you.
When you’re heavy with me, you are the fog.
When I’m heavy with you, I am the breaks of surf
smeared out on the sands.
Sometimes
we make a rip curl,
burrowing under me
by some unearthly gravitational force.
I swell and mix with you.
We fight for the top till
we must fall over the apex
and break over the earth,
crashing down
again and again.
Until there is no more moon
there is no separating us,
as much as they try.
The sea of our stories
will be played in by the ages
of Children and their children.
From our ritual they may find sanctuary
So long as our ritual exists

Stephan W

The key turns,
and each tumbler falls into its
pre-honed slot

There is an infinite magic
in  her world of words--
her heart finds them
through special agreement,

as the door opens wide;  no
resistance at the hinge,
and it is at that very moment  that she
  gives
everything that she has.

Her relationship with eternity--  it
calls me to her.
I want to be near her--

    be her friend..

And with both hands,  brazenly
touch the hem of her garment--
slide  it  off  of  her;

      share..   in the eternal.