sex

i smell the

hot shadows

they linger

like sticky sweet

liquid

and

sunshine

dark

musky pieces

that come alive

to be collected in a perfect picture

eaten later

washing

me

with river

fire

perfume

melting and

spawning

whispering

on knifes edge

weaving sharply

softly

through my senses

figures who live

in me

who stretch and twine

through me

like

naked

wires

almost

finally

nearly

completely

touching

  Spawning in Lava River   ~    more art at www.artofkundalini.com

Sweet Me

 

 

Finding the sweet me

is a forever journey

a soul trip

to inner space

amongst the mist

worlds that

exist ed

before I could think

When my heart was  jupiter

and you my mother

my father

my feathered gods that

swung me left and right

up up

missing the fan blades

instilling a grounded earthly love

for something

blue and green

a painterly  lean

a thick  plastering of sensational life

I flew the roads and climbed the mountainous peaks

dancing the backs of cashmere  goats

I have breathed shallow on the arsenicum ridges

been plaintive in my call

but strength becomes me now

and oceans float my

salty toes

to shore

Finding the

sweet

in the folds of satin ink

amongst wildflowers and faces

a journey

pink

and incomplete

My Heart Pocket

I must say thank you  to the wonderful Jennifer Bullis for her inspiring tribute, created in response to a series of art work I did in which I posed the question ‘What Would Fall Out If The Heart Were A Pocket and We Were Each Turned Upside Down?’

Please pop over at her blog Poetry at the Intersection of Mythology and Hiking to read her work and see her poem, a poem that installed a sweet ache in my own heart……… What Would fall Out, If The Heart Were A Pocket, and We Were Each Turned Upside Down’

Dare I pose the question, dear readers; what are you keeping in your pockets?

 

My Heart Pocket

 

Little things,

that fit

in the deepest spots

the sweetest spots.

Big things that shouldn’t and can’t but do,

things bigger than even I.

And now with the rushing and flooding

of life gathering under the crown,

of gems past, present and

tomorrow’s sun,

alongside the shoving and pooling

of desperate rust and magenta survival,

there is a tinkling and a thudding,

a shining and a burrowing.

A pyramid of sugar

of slowly melting crystal

beneath

my upturned gaze.