Senses Speak

the curtains part

on

hot bulging temples

and spilling thighs

words fall against themselves

dying valiantly

letting senses speak now

beautiful uninhibited senses

rolling bloody skin

around

howling channels of desire

all sinew and strength

tall beasts

between french lines

claw and tongue

growling

i must have

the body length full

not whisper

not tips of bits

but the entirety

not nuance

or subtlety

no teetering bashful allegory

but ferocious indulgent swallowing

 

whole

 

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Dangling

and there it is

puffy with pain

liquid with shock

orange with fear

dangling

flashing

dangling but still blinking

blinker blinker blinker

exposing in flashes

little linguistadors

filing away

rubbing

glossing

smoothing

conspiralling

seeking

underskin

surging now

dismembering

hammering

and here the dangling

still

the orange star

dripping upwards

blinker

blinker

blinker

 

 

until

in early morning

I

seek

my heart

like a good friend

dialogue is easy

wavering like a mirage

swaying like a seasoned mother

but there are those other days…..

a smooth stone

a sheet of steel

a silent impasse

there is no other way

i stand at the door

until

http://www.artofkundalini.com

Orchids in her hair

Elegant yellow

cool ivory

spiced cream

chest deep

mulled love

spilling over

flavescent petals

buds of light

Orchids in her hair orchids in her heart – http://www.artofkundalini.com 

 

 

 

 

 

 

even in summer

see that hole

a no thing

a darkness spot

the one you can’t catch

the dipping shadow

skimming over yellow sails

spreading purple salt

it evades your finger

a spirit

trickster

lazer beam

you are a puppy

bouncing

tapping

sniffing whining

wishes are grabbing

it’s the one

the one that disappears

the min min

the eye dancer

frightening you making you tense in bed even on crisp sheets

even in summer

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The Curling Things

 

It is the curling things that encourage me

to move the perfect symmetry

the fibonacci

of chaos that licks me on the inside

and spurs me into action

It is the hardness that looks soft

and the elongation of rational thought

I am bound to the unravelling of design

I am clung

and sticking like

feathers to a bird

I am moving like honey

struggling to stay

glued to the spoon

I am the tip of a shell

spiralling like ice-cream to the limitless blue dome

above

the illusion of seeking

the stability of air

we are what we see and  my heart is breathing

space

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Sometimes Heart Dances

 

Sometimes

and then others…

an aching stone

a vibrating tessellating gravity

a thick beating pane

cracking

glass

for nought but a thought of something

easier

blue sighing

and it falls

feather quality

quill first

softly

splitting

spilling

shattering