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Rusk

Tied up in pretty cellophane
shining sesame crowns
a treat you look
like Christmas food
or something from Austria.

But you and I know
That inside you are sucked dry
Inviting, coquettish, but hard as stone
No soft mouth pillows
Only hard edges.

You clang on the edge of the bowl
Refusing to sink into my soup

Then slowly
Lapping at your edges
Massaging and releasing the crusted grains
She seduces you to softness.

You dissolve, sinking, falling apart.
Only sesame tears mark your passing
into the murky depths
of pea and mint.

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Born of a struggle

Feel I must
Go deep
Don’t push a poem out
for a hungry crowd of inner critics
milking the joy of living from my aching breast

it will come out rancid and lifeless

Butterflies and baby things must be born of a struggle
a struggle to express
to come out from inside

not that it must be hard
but to be heard
a voice must be raised
lifted from the depths
and offered out soaking and slippery to the world

stop grasping at the unripe fruits of my heart
this is not the way
they will not sate the hunger

sit quietly by instead
and wait
for them to land on my head.

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Dancing queen

I go
deep into flow.
The wild wolf woman
throwing back my head to howl
delight and raw power of soul.

The day dances along
new partners on  the floor
come bearing gifts
laying destiny at my feet
and looking on with
worshipful awe.

A newly born queen
wings moist but unfurling

a sleek lady fox
tail brightly uncurling

a dervish in heart
a deep inner whirling

love is my light
to love is my calling

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Into the wild

All this time, did I ever tell what I wanted? Did I ever ask you to take me there? I feel like I did, and I saw you reaching for it again and again with other women. So I figured you must know. Even now you are doing it. And I’m doing it, with other guys, who are kind, who don’t know what they want or why they want me, who aren’t you and don’t know me. There is an external place, and an internal place, at the same time. I know you won’t really go there without me….

I want you to pick me up and drive me out into the wilderness one smiley bright afternoon. You’ll play those songs again and say something cheeky and look at me, to see that I want to bite your lips and scratch my way under your shirt, to eat me up a little with your eyes and act nonchalant.

To pull up at just exactly the hobbity home. To  venture in like wide-eyed children and dump bags of cosy treats on the table to be almost forgotten and then devoured under moonlight in the deep hunger of hearts aflame. We dump ourselves on the sofa, half drunk on the nest of green surrounding us and half drunk on each other.

Then it’s all about sensation and safety, closeness and clothes-off, bare-feet and bravery, stillness and still here. We light a fire and everything comes off. We draw the stars in closer and the darkness over us like a blanket. We tell stories of our hearts with our fingertips as urgent rememberings flow from our lips as violent kisses and ripple through our bodies in unison.

We fight, we flow, we are tender and tearing and tears come and laughter. We tumble from deeply dug-up duck down to soaked grassy banks to fireside bear hugs and tea mugs and messy headed nuzzling and lap-lazing and star-gazing and the silent strokes, affirmative sighs of a world re-aligned.

We go on tumbling from here to there and into and all over each other.  Melting in showers, steam after hours of breathing each other in so deeply and fucking it all out. Right to the solar plexus.

Now you can go and dance over the horizon and storm your path and leave me bright and shining. We are complete and you are beside me as you disappear from view, smiling strong.

Just feel this please, breathe it in like delicious woodsmoked night air, or the way you inhale the taste of my neck through my hair, I need you to meet me there and finish what we started, inside or outside it’s the same place and you know it. You only have to let go and arrive.