the sleeping me

The little me
sleeps and schemes
projecting illusive
dreams,
dancing with maya
and avoiding the fire
that could wipe it's karma
clean.
And the soul sits
in prayerful pose
waiting to be
seen,
smiling gently
at sleeping me
seduced by how
it seems.

grave robber

He stands in the shadows,
black suit and tie
prying open
our dark moldy coffin
Why? I cry,
helpless to stop him,
as each rusty nail
falls to the ground
without a sound
wood splinters and
I can only observe
heartbeat unsteady
this grave robber
back for more
whose stolen too much
already.

(P.S. - Rusty nails are dangerous. I hope you get tetanus.)

creation

How infinite the mind of the One,
laden with latent possibility
dormant in the microcosm of
the "me" struggling stupidly
to comprehend
the simple complexity
of the continuum of
constant and cohesive
creation.

strings

He pulls my strings
and I dance and sing
a melody born of dreams
and it matters not
if what he says is true
for the way he pulls
upon these cords
very few can do.

tied

I watch the wind
whip passion through the trees,
and whispering to my heart
I promise to better tend
to the garden blooming within,
to daily inspect the strength of string
that’s tied from it,
to you.

stained

I scrub my skin
as raw as my heart
that's stained the sleeves
of every perfectly picked
outfit I laid out
for him.

paid heed

I find letters littered
on the dusty floor
of the past,
words I never noticed,
till now.
And suddenly,
ashamed and sorry,
I think perhaps
I wish I'd paid heed
to the light in the eyes
of those who'd agree...
who long ago
wished I'd paid heed
to the light in their eyes
as well.

next to nothing

I am tangled in the touch
of his written words
that tear me into beautiful
deep dripping puddles
of passion that leak
through my roof
and soak my bed
in his scent
and it lingers
on my fingers
that sign his name
in silence
and it means
next to nothing
to him.

caught

My days dissolve into words,
his words and mine,
ensnared and entwined
like a wild creature
caught.
And I am reminded of
feral cats that fear for their life
until you simply
cover their eyes.

pulpit

You sock me
upside the head
with your seduction.
And I wonder
where your plans
may lead.
Perhaps to the pulpit
where you've stripped me
once before.
Bare.
And bronzed.
My body waits
for whatever
you have
in store.

after the rain

I stand in the pose of the tree.
And breathe.
While sunlight warms my skin,
and drop dappled firs
reach to the heavens
to rejoice in quiet voice.
And I can't help but think
that perhaps
they are as awed as I
by the forest after a rain.

soaked

Your tongue tastes of cream soda
and strawberries,
soaked in sugar
and dripping with
desire.
Kinda like me.

flick

You are gone.
Shriveled into a dark
dusty memory,
a long forgotten mistake,
that I toss aside
with the flick
of a wrist...
And suddenly,
I can stand up
straight.

arabian nights

Let me be your Scheherazade
your breath, your blood, your life,
weaving tales of desire
through the jasmine scented night.
I will worship you alone
dark sultan of my dreams,
if you whisper, your voice like velvet,
of pleasures yet unknown.
I shall surrender willingly
as your hands possess,
strong and firm upon my skin
yet soft as silks caress.
I will kneel before you,
grant your every wish,
I will give you everything
if you allow me this.
Let me be your Scheherazade,
lie back on velvet pillows
and I will dance the seven veils
in silken swirling billows.
Let me be your lotus,
sweet, tender and pale,
a dewey petaled flower
that opens delicately
at dusks darkening hour.
Let me be your Scheherazade
a gift like desert rain
to trace in grace your dark skin
with locks of raven mane.
I will deliver un-ending delights
throughout the sultry night,
the nectar of mango upon your lips
combined with hungry kiss.
In the corner, over charcoal
amber resin glows
an ancient scent as dark and deep
as the Niles water flows.
I will be your mystery
like the sacred shadowed halls
where history reveals itself
and the pyramids secrets live.
Let me be your Scheherazade
for I have much to tell you...
and even more to give.

emerging

I am in chrysalis,
emerging gracefully
by the power of my Guru's
gentle prodding.
Delicate and damp,
my wings spread wide
to engulf the Universe.
And mounted by my savior
I flutter into infinity
to unabashedly french kiss
the mouth of Divinity.

ash

I will worship you
if Shiva will not take offense
(he seems the jealous type,)
and like Hanuman with Ram in his heart,
in a clamor of gold tear open my chest
to reveal your face, your grace,
and the mantra of your name
that pumps in my veins.
I will kneel at your feet
to feel your hand on my head,
then roll into savasana,
revealing the soft sweet
underbelly of my soul.
I will weep like Parvati
crazed for her king,
for to me, you are he,
the wild God of passion
with a lingam of lightening
forbidden to touch.
And like Shaivite sadhus
dissolved in devotion,
I'll burn in the fire,
adorn my temple
with the ash of desire,
and worship as I
see fit.