Tincture of the Fae

One day,
You will fall in love with me.

My fingers will run your hair, scalp of my tips
Doubt at my bossum,
As you rest your heavy thougts into the blanketed navigation
Of being taken in.

You do not need me,
But here I dwell.
Dwell like a well, on your land.
Emerged.  Asked for.  Loved.

The shame,
  I want to smear it all over my body,
Your hands the weapon,
Your release, my Light.
  Breathe into everything, because Someone is coming to the multiverse with me.
On a cloud,
Elsewhere.
Between the veil; kneel or hail.

My Love is my God, and God, do I love you!
  Tapered and tempered, masks reveal other saids.

My touch a potion,
And of which I wish you to drink.
Needing your closed eyes all over me.
Your lost soul to the touch alone , of Love.
   Let me
  Touch
   You.

Surrender.  To the Hello game.
And if not, my creature,
Then goodbye once again.

Rather I,
Take you into my forest,
And Let you fall in love with what I call home.

Rather I kiss you with the stroke of touch.
Missing my human
  When he is gone and such.

The Snailing

The Snailling:

Believe me child,
  Take heed.  The reciprocity is a callous, ferocious thing.
Life,
    She inhales, and impales, all while bringing breath to thee.

I am a snail, in the morn, when all is sound, and there had been
  So much time, for
                                      Myself.

Now, I am the retribution, of a fierce-hold's intent,
   Falling apart a navigated line,
Balancing one side at a time,
  As Foot occupation's walk,

Had become the tale of me-
Brave and futile.

Snailing,
   Tiny creature now as fragile as me,
How can I cover you, while my morning fades into another day?

My time is wearing thin, and soon the sun, in all it's wholeness,
Shall seek to gobble thee up.

Weary, tiny
  Seat of my soul,
I know
    Nothing  to console you
Of this life.

If ye feast on star berries,
Then your life has been blessed,
  And we have known here,
Patches and field's
of this wonderful bitterness.

A Dune field
And a bluff of mild lore
A song down of Canterbury too
 Our life has been a blessed one,
Lil' Snailing, it's been in the love of two.

Pollination

Pollination

Time.
Time to be dipped in a soil, ripened for gestating
Time, to bask in an underground sun.

Time.  To linger for a while,
Hibernating .  Waiting, for just the right moment,
The right time
To peak one wall's surface
To a dying danger of the light,
Leaving one wall forever behind

Til death once more.

Where once I was intangible, without senses
  Now there is a world I am surrounded by,
And a river that runs close, even though I fear as all the other flowers and weeds,
Just when a rain won't come.

My death to be by the nature of that which I thrive of;
    The Sun.
Mighty Odious Body
  Of everything pervading in me.
  Grieving over, retribution a harmony
Of time lapses
Quadrants shaking loose in dimensional gaps
Jumps between portholes in time.

Time, my Love,
  Time.

Spiraling upwards towards a fray
Onward I bloom, til I turn downward one day,
And away from the sky, oh my beloved blue sun
And towards a curve once more.

Beloved dance
A motion of math, the Fibonacci Sequence
My core vibration outlasting all days and nights
Til at last,I wilt.

I lived my life, full, entangled
Drenched, and parched
Dreading Summers,
And Warful Winters
And Blooming again,
Like a Scotland Spring.
  It was all I could ever ask for.

And so I lived.  Perishing still,
  Downward I go,
Returning once more

To the wall of the underground.

A Phoenix Heart

Maybe if just to tie my heart in a noose.
So to can't fall loose.
So it can't breathe the in's and out's of Men's fickle truths;
So I don't have to hide or soothe.

My heart is a head tilted down,
A flower wilted and drowned.
A solemn division for attention,
Never found.
A weeping epitome
Having lost it's sound.

It is a scream only full of silence,
A desperation knowing no mirror-
What is in me, a disturbing distance
Of having no love returned here.

My value, a bird unreturned to it's nest,
My discipline, the meeting of the rest
I'm walking, walking a shoreline
With only ghosts of love as my past.

Even the faces of trust,
An illusion of shattered dust
Even my faces of Love,
A seizing of rust.

Summer to Autumn
Promise of Sun, unengaged
Temperatures of Warmth
Quickly turning to Haze

My Shoreline, chilly, and so longingly of the deep
I am alone here again once more
Just a Future, a chill, and me.

In the black blue against the sea,
It is not that all is lost..
But I was beginning to Love once more,
And even that's been lost.

One set of prints in the sand,
One thing taken once more...
So used to being taken for what I have,
As quickly as it slips out the door.

So maybe, If just to tie my heart in a noose,
And no more can be taken of...
As a man promises to love a flower,
But how easily Plucked, then given up.

Never knowing,
Never knowing,

Any damage left and done

As if locked away, to be forgotten so, something in me fades
A promise of Love, never honored
A tempest of mascarades.

So what was love,
But a loss of all,
A fire set ablaze,
Unmet and matched
And consuming all
As a spark one neglected to tame.

As easy it was to start something so,
I watched him walk away..
Leaving me in desperation so,
As I burned and caught all in flame.

And yet in a center of Ash,
The dust of condition, my heart still remains-
A pheonix so, but I wonder still,
If to procure death through rope, stead of flame.

Black Butterfly Leaks

No thing can fill a leaking vessel,
And at the seams,
I am dripping dry.

No ration left in me;
What grace?
My Love is all over the floor, a puddle around me bare,
Evaporating
And
My eyes down,

Wondering how a life could become this still image,
This endless leak,
Of myself at my own feet.

Here, I am looking at God, left of bruises as reflections of me, and cries for death that echo whispering screams from my liquid mirror.
The beauty seems trapped in the dark reflections that meet no escape-

A Black Butterfly
Evaporating away.

There is no filling
A seeping vessel; I just leak-

That is what God and I are up to;

We are in me
Dripping together,
Watching, together,
And slowly I am evaporating with the scene.
Drying up.
Parched.

Watching...
Myself all over the floor.

Fire Dance

My heart dies everyday;
You have awakened it's fire-

A vivid portrait, I'm afraid,
Of breathing in slights
I remember now,
Being undeserving of.


You shudder,
And I sway
Just left or right
To balance the trot we tamper with.

As coy and tempered as I, underneath it all stirs relentlessly
Foolishly and weak
Reaping already
Starved seeds sown,

Then plucked.

If it's not seeing me that scares me,
It's being seen.

Rot with havoc, intestines turned,
I Un-nerve, paralyzingly my own body-

The thought of being burned again is a memory of melting flesh and the smell of brazen fire, against freckles for ash.
the scars intrude far past my skin, leaviing the lingering of agony,
Even in the after-math.
What is a burned girl and is she desirable for dance? The dance that made her what she is?
It took me once.
And now, I can't say I recognize what's been made.
Is there still love even beneathe my fresh flesh?
Is it worthy?
Will the audience have me?
Will she ever be loved?
After, all

I am just a burned girl.
What grace in Cindered pores?
What God in ovens of power?
I can't tell...

Has the fire won?
Have I let it?

Neptune

I don't want to peel again,
Or be reborn.

The water in the soil is seeping in,
And what's amassing, a root or a thorn;
inward
Is Stirring a storm.

I think I feel the sea and might
But second-guessed, I linger-
A tree taken away one night,
Awash and all.

Entranced and tracing,
I wade to thee
Upon your motion
And the way we breathe,
Lulled and lulling
Yet can not I sleep.

I wonder what this'll reap?
A relationship of doom?
Faith and death.

As I walk faith-bound,
Hypnotized to the far side of the moon
Entrenched I find myself waist deep
In the thick of you.
Wading,
Wading,

And the tide coming in...

Neptune is an illusion....

But I am staring at it, beyond the moon,
Much beyond,
Knowing he was the last to save me..

Lulled and lulling,
Wading.

Tide...

Coming in...

Devil's Toy

I married you, I remember..
     In a deep shadow under a moonless sky, beneathe rafter-beams, hay...
  You had claws then.  A Demon.

I gave God up.  You hypnotized me with a Love I knew was forbidden.
I gave God up, in those shadows..
And became devoured in our invisible repeats
Night after night,
Where I would weep alone, in my bed..

Wondering not where God was, but Rather you instead.

Funny though...

God
Never
Left.

No.

Just You, My Beast.
Just you.

Path into the Middle-Land

I've flipped. Over my life tangents like pancakes,

Til' they are perfect for the day.  Honey or maple, to a choice marmalade and it's all, a refined dance gone right and wrong.

The "they" everybody speaks of, they whisper show and tell, some of it real...

  I nod my head in agreement thinking off to testimonies my own, and tracing the flash drive of my memory in pics.

If ever such a God does exist, sure I have met "Him" most in peaks of flash dancing rains and shouts to the Earth and all Heavens how much I sync into thee.

Moments of great defiance come in headphones on the streets...role models in ear muffs and parents how likely around?

Of love, I have eaten it bare, fruit and carcasses, partaking in the flesh eating of things...are measures of it washed clean, or already "forgiven" perhaps, and by whom?

Shall we allow ever to forgive ourselves? And what is man?

Refined down like worn jewelry on a weathering woman's hands, I smite the arrogance and yet bow abashedly.
  Exonerate Peace.

I have seen violence breed violence, racism breed racism, and prejudice breed hate as easy as any mind is manipulated.  Compassion will therefore breed empathy, understanding, the same way love might breed a bridging of worlds, healing, comedy, inspiration, innovation...

A feudal Tide, and yet still we are ever so Roaring against it.
                            The Middle-Land.

Beneathe

I am lost In my sexuality,
  Swimming beneathe a dark hole of lucid dreams
And vivid memories.

I breathe the flash liquid of deprivation
And cling to the memory of hands on me at 4...
Or was it age three or six?

Their faces I remember but their fingers I feel all over again,
  As vivid as though it were yesterday,
And I am back there

Suspended in that moment in time.

Scoffed, and scorned, I see through a veiled glass, another world between you and I.

I can almost touch it, stretching, reaching, in the in-between.

Always searching for ways to make sense of it,
  Always wandering in wonder.

Though it be a blemished world, there is no denying some Godhead beneathe the beauty, of any single thing.  Something sacred lies beneath each surface

  And I am swimming in reds and liquid deeps, refraining from lingering
Here

Too long.

I am a rebel, perhaps, whom hates this body...but I seek refinement.  Humility.  Servitude.  

The deep is nothing I can not handle.

The Wine Hour-Glass

Impending,

Pending,

  Liquefying as fluid stardust...

Evaporated.  Dispersed.
Submersed.
  Gone.

Under your belly, I refrain from breath, testing myself,
Gasping and scattering in flashbacks.

  The history of malintent, as extenuated as another blade of grass-

A Hellish karmic cycle of thought prisons and breaking free.

  I have slipped back into some blanket of time.  A reversal of choices made so I can re-choose an outcome.  Sipping on me is as though sinking into an hourglass of continuos sands.
My pebbles-scores of ware from other lands.
  Of pearls or lavas, titanium, or stone, my sands come from a universe.
A sip, starts the journey.

  A sea of definitives, I lumber across the deep red, engulfed in a buoyant repeal of state
I could be trapped here forever, and yet always must I,
Return.

The Seed

       Left taken aback; the wind knocked out of me

As I back to sit, eyes searching, ticking, ticking

To comprehend.

You left.
You always had, left.

And I always waited, a fool bound.  Literal.
And as an Angel.

Smited, it has been another day,
With no words,
No refuse,     Nothing explained or apologized for,
Where I let you splinter my soul, as if to remain, even if only by shard.

When I buried you,
I failed to understand the concept of a seed.

But you became lost to me then
  containing the power only,
To peak back up and see me once more.

I know it was love now,
Because only love can withstand what you've done.
What you haven't.

I'd always simply wished that you would have just apologized.
That you would want to make me happy; that you would embrace our fall towards another sky, some where else.

The reality was different wasn't it?
I felt stripped by the time you were done with me.
Kicked, lost, hurt, abandoned.

Of course I buried you.

You broke the soil though.
And think I not, that you recognize me anymore.

I will always love you.
I can not tell if you know this, because our moments of truth revealed so much more than I'd learned to expect from you.

I had always simply wanted you to be nice.  Can't tell if you ever loved me.
And surely since so long ago,

You have stopped, haven't you?

Well?

Candlelight

The dissonance is a swamp of graves used for growing crops.

It is a world where the region is a lost one on any map, as mind points over  purpose and iniquity, classes and what-haves.

I forget how sad classical piano can sound, even when it is whimsical...
  No telling, if the sadness is mine, or shared by the notes, stumbling over themselves in rush for perfect placement. So smooth.
So loosening.
And grips, they unfold.

My sleep escapes me late into another night.  Nerves twitch my canine and myself.
My mind, flutters, like butterfly wings, against a wind pouring in on draft
Riding, coasting, crashing,
How the little winged thing
Surfs into me.

Hours of the night, a true hourglass, as time itself postulates to the mind and an AM dark hour kept by candlelight.
      Seconds are lost in hours, veils lift, and the cat in me, stays awake to watch the night crawlers walk about.

Ey, it is a late hour indeed, where words are sifted through like ancestors drafting Magna Carta's. I stay awake by iPhone screen, and type on technology.

A new candlelight.
A new Quill

A New Time.

The Dissonance of Graves