After a long night of rain,
Autumn finds its way to my front steps.
A harvest of leaves.

I have never seen your face.
I have never heard your voice.
We became friends through friend of friend.
We will probably never meet in person.
And yet…
You read my reflections every day.
You see my pictures wherever I go.
You are always there,
even in my solitary life.
Our physical distance means nothing.
You know me deeper than my “real life” friends.
You feel my pulse as I go through each day,
as I can sense your joy and sorrow.
Your comments on my postings are spot on.
They are testimonies that you know me--
my spirit, my sentiments and my thoughts.
Living our separate lives,
we nevertheless touch and commune.
Who says Facebook friendships are not real?
This is as real as it can get.

Love is
two soft animals
venturing out of their shells.
Underbelly exposed.
Trembling,
feeling foolish.
Embarrassed
about themselves.
But can’t stop
the madness.
Like moths approaching
a flame,
they are doomed
to be consumed
by the sacred fire.
Totally.

Let’s not be fooled
by reason or the scientific mind.
Magic is real.
It happens,
often when we don’t expect it.
After working six hours straight,
teaching six classes back to back,
with no lunch break in between,
I am a desert plant
on the edge of wilting.
I stagger into a local restaurant,
thinking I deserve a good meal.
But the food is just mediocre.
Would have cursed, if not for the music,
which is pure sorcery.
How do they know the songs of my youth,
the songs that touch my soul?
Soft rock from the Seventies,
music of the Eagles, the Foreigners,
Ambrosia, Al Stewart…
All of a sudden, I am young again.
I regain my graduate student self,
living my Bohemian lifestyle
in the midst of Greenwich Village.
Life again is full of possibilities.
Music is a time machine,
which transports me with a spell,
whizzing through four decades in a flash.
So, today, the universe gives me a gift.
It makes me young again,
even if it is for half an hour,
as I dine alone in some unknown restaurant.
on a Friday afternoon.
My heart bursts with gratitude.
This is the nourishment I need.

If I were to live in another time,
I may be called a temple priestess.
But today, we servants of the Goddess
are despised and called “******.”
Why is it wrong
to be a lover of men?
Why is it a crime
to make a living serving them?
Why can’t they see
that I too make an offering to the Most High?
Every cell of my body enjoys
pleasuring men.
I love the way men feel.
I savor the way men smell.
I yearn for the ferocity,
the animalness of men’s passion;
the way they grab me
and move.
I give pleasure,
I receive pleasure.
It feels so safe and snug
when I have a man inside.
Watching men ******
throws me over the edge.
I am Aphrodite’s temple,
the sunny place where men visit
to seek warmth and healing.
Let me stay true to my ***** self.
Why feel ashamed
about loving to ****?
Why feel guilty about
the act that brings us all here?
It’s how you and I are made.
Delicious ***,
the very spice of life,
makes my garden bloom.
Let me take pride of my whoredom;
it’s the place where I live and create.
Don’t make me apologize,
for this is the sacred path I choose.
What an honor to serve pleasure,
to be the holy receptacle.
It’s my calling and my gift.
This is what life is about--
serving others, sharing joy,
re-creating life with carnal music,
making myself
quiver and come.

The feminine is
the Goddess,
the hidden,
the mysterious.
It is the soft,
the curvy,
the simmering heat
that slowly brings
blood to boil.
The liquid sensuality that
awakens
the animal in me.
It is the Earth,
the fecund mother of all things,
the wet, musky soil,
the exquisite receiver.
The masculine is active,
sometimes aggressive.
But the feminine is
the ****** stillness.
Its moss-laden door lies waiting
for the right moment
to open up to thunder
and rain.
Lao Tze said that
The softest in the world
will conquer the hardest.
So true!
I am grateful
even in my defeat.

Open the window
and let the world come in with its
carnival of sounds, scents and sights.
If love is craziness, let me be mad!
Let me come alive and feel the crispness of the air.
Let me dance under the sky so blue and clear!
Let me caress my eyes
with the soft ****** petals of spring flowers
and find rainbow in the morning dew.
Let me take delight in the sparkles of sunlight
or the quiet reflection of the moon in still pond.
Let us build a crackling fire in our little room,
tucked away in a far corner of the universe,
while you hold me in your arms and simmer me with desire.
Let me tremble in the breathtaking tightness of your embrace.
Let me cling on to you, like the ivy clinging onto that
red wall--for I am afraid, so afraid of losing life.
Let me soak ever word you say into the deep soil of my heart.
Let me awaken to who I am and where I want to be.
You are the one who listens to the silent music of my soul.
I give you the keys and coyly ask you
to unlocked the mystery of the woman in me.
You gently brush back the hair that covers my eyes,
and wipe away my sorrows and fears.
Listen, and hear how my heart throbs for your closeness,
how it yearns for your strength, warmth and tenderness.
I am a woman in love, and I find no fault.
You clear my confusion like the wind blows away the clouds.
Let me venture out of my self-made fortress and prison
to seek the good and the beautiful.
To be vulnerable is part of living--this is the eternal truth.
If loving you means becoming vulnerable,
let me be the mollusk which crawls naked out of its shell.
I want to, need to, hold you in love and passion,
kiss and savor every moment before it returns to the
river of impermanence. In this embrace of silence,
you are here for me and I for you.
Let me hear your whispers and feel the of your skin.
Let me walk with you, talk with you,
and be taken away in your strong arms.
Together we can LIVE.