Eating Ice Cream

What gods invented this sheer bliss?

The chinese, I hear!

Thanks, say I to the

Chinese ice cream gods then!

The spoon feels clumsy in my hand

Maybe I need a smaller spoon?

I hear tell it lasts longer that way

Ah! Spoons are for sissys!

 

I throw it aside

and stick my index finger into the tub

first the pink bits

then the white

strawberry, then vanilla

vanilla, then strawberry

 

are there more tantalizing delights than this?

events more satisfying?

things to know that tease the

tongue more completely?

 

ice cream tastes better when you

lick it off your skin

it's also cheaper and

more effective than therapy

I'm hungry, now

 

Lavender Muse

Let them think, ponder, deliberate! I am surrounded by the smell of lavender!

 

Purple, spikes of pure heaven. I picked fistfulls from the garden today.  Flowers! Growing without permission, with little care, with no acceptance.  I've never met a flower that asked, "Is it alright, if I am beautiful?" "Do you think I am?" or "How could I be more beautiful for you?".  They simply spring from earth, sunlight and water and grow whether you notice them or not.  How wonderful they are, how perfectly they embrace life. Such perfection is hard to find among men.  So while we think, plot, scheme, linger, protest, hunger, wonder and cling to fragile illusions, lavender just is. If the world is our oyster, perhaps we shouldn't overlook the pearl?

Once Upon a Time

lying in the long grass

eyes meeting eyes

hair in the mist

whispers blend

with breezes

 

 

Expression

dancing woman
Originally uploaded by romanlily.

In Dreams

In dreams I’ve seen him smile. Seen a shadow play across his face, heard laughter bubble up, quickly replaced by a different dance. I like to pretend I know him. I don’t

I like to pretend I know him way down deep in secret, magical places. Imagine my toes dipped into pools of him. Imagination can be dangerous when you use it so unwisely. How alluring he can be!

How utterly unfathomable! Sensual? In his keep-them-at-arms-length style. How hard he is, in his soft way. How well he silently teaches me to be more open, forthcoming, real (?).

Such protections we have! So necessary, so damning! Still, I want to look into his eyes.

And see his fists fall open like lotus blossoms.

What Flower is That?

“What flower is that” he asks, and I hold handfuls up to his nose, letting him inhale the scent. His eyes close, just for a second, blink and flutter, once twice, like butterfly wings.

“Jasmine”

I study him. This man with the aquiline nose, honey skin and long athletic body. The unruly mop of hair that doesn’t look neat without considerable effort is beautiful. This is a beautiful man.

If I didn’t know better I would rate him: perfect. But I do. I know better. I have seen his dark side - the suffering that lurks within this being of light. Way, down deep, underneath his honey-hued physical perfection. He doesn’t fool me.

Will it be hours (days?) before he erupts into flames of insecurity, becomes overwhelmed by his sense of rejection. How long this time, before he tastes misery and finds it pleasantly fulfilling?

Sweet, lovely, William, your mother should have loved you more.

Soulmate

Soulmate, I wonder where you’ve gone?

you and your eyes-like-ocean
you and your mischievous madcap
you and your perfect smile
you and your lithe limbs
you and your humming humour
you and your devil-may-care
you and your symmetry
you and your feisty folly
you and your better-than-anyone

you and your death-by-carbon-monoxide

you and your larger than life.

Dear Me

Dear Me:

Who are you really? Does the snap of your tongue make you what you are? The size of your hips, your lips?

“You have the most gorgeous mouth a man once said to me”. “I wonder what he’ll think when he hears what comes out of it? I thought silently to myself with a smile. The one where one corner turns up and my eyes flash and flutter.

A dear, sweet man once made me a leather bikini. I didn’t wear it. I don’t like my men to dress me, even if it was a nice piece of art.

My lover of four years (is it five?) thought he knew me. He didn’t. If he did he wouldn’t have believed himself.

I think, ultimately, I am “free”. If not physically then I feel that way in my mind. Answerable to no man. I don’t feel encapsulated. A kind of mental butterflyness. That has to count for something.