The Syllables of Her Sacred Chant.

She is not so much a physical creature Although she appears to be Breasts and nipples and tender movements She is a dark, insightful succulence An apparition of  streaming seduction Of spiritual fruits that drip sweetly into your heart and dreams She is a wild one A...
Shakti Dances on the Grave of My Hurts.

Shakti Dances on the Grave of My Hurts.

  Shakti was taught to lower her eyes To hide her truth, to speak on command… To doubt the wisdom that burned in her breast, to bow to power – to cry silent tears in the shadows of her pain Her fire was doused Her kindness abused But Shakti returns...
Twenty One Valentines’ Plus a Day.

Twenty One Valentines’ Plus a Day.

I’m watching you sleep, golden-skinned among a tangle of white linen sheets. That’s my favorite background for you, in a bed of white, muscle and strength stretched out, dark hair a contrast to the pillows you’ve shoved to the side, your face a peaceful poem. I wonder...