Preface by Violet Franke
In volume three, the author has yet again, led us on an engaging series of communiqué, but this time it ventures into the physicality of union and polyamorous loves.
Da Vinci said that “love shows itself more in adversity than in prosperity; as light does, which shines most where the place is darkest.” It is easy to see the light and dark from author’s conception of her heart’s love. Some of this volume communicates the historical context of her heart, and then self-corrects to the here and now, bringing us back to the experience of love in the present. Certainly, the historical informs a danger and poverty that you can see justifies the craving of the author’s heart to simply be accepted and to simply love.
I will look forward to the last of the volumes – volume four, and how that is painted on the page, as the author moves from writing about physicality, to writing about aging. In the meantime, enjoy volume three as the author holds a magnifying glass to her heart’s conception, past present and future.
Da Vinci said that “love shows itself more in adversity than in prosperity; as light does, which shines most where the place is darkest.” It is easy to see the light and dark from author’s conception of her heart’s love. Some of this volume communicates the historical context of her heart, and then self-corrects to the here and now, bringing us back to the experience of love in the present. Certainly, the historical informs a danger and poverty that you can see justifies the craving of the author’s heart to simply be accepted and to simply love.
I will look forward to the last of the volumes – volume four, and how that is painted on the page, as the author moves from writing about physicality, to writing about aging. In the meantime, enjoy volume three as the author holds a magnifying glass to her heart’s conception, past present and future.
One night stands
It was not often I went out hunting. My body would get the better of me, and I sought you out again like a pilgrimage. And I chose you. Your smell, your smile. It was simple and efficient. A quickly made reciprocal agreement to engage and couple ourselves. Verbalised of course. Consent is crucial to any outcomes. Now I write of the marks you left on my shadow. Like such a sacred unfurling of my heart and soul barreling down a hill to the Ocean. With all of the clichés attached to the heavy breath. And where the river meets the ocean. Then the sun would rise, and I would return them to the sea. Usually very carefully. With gratitude. And a relief that my body would not tell me what to do again for some while yet. Left with a triste. Left with an unspoken agreement, that the encounter would now remain in our pasts. And hopefully with no disease. A memory simply written, on another pianola role. And placed in the back of the wardrobe. Where my best red and gold silk dress still hangs.
Control
I need to share another series of letters with you. And open myself up about Control. I hope you do not mind. It is a memory about this particular man. He was charming. Gregarious, positive, kind and flirtatious. It was not his looks that mastered my woes. It was an honest charm. But he was drunk, and I was sober. Some how he came home on the back of my motorbike. I remember is was a risky trip. His weight was heavy influence on my steering and balance. But we made it to my home. I remember he was a little self-effacing, referring to the experience of feeling the motion of the ocean. And this was a connection purely for the sake of it. I managed to not think of her. I managed to hold myself still and just enjoy the company, but he seized control in my release. He flipped me over and did not even ask permission. I knew enough to not fight back. And I was reminded that the risk of one night stands, the way they men especially expect to get what they prefer. Like an arranged marriage where I have no choice. No voice. Just a body to be exploited. And some minor trauma suffered because of my silences.
The sun rose like always, and I returned him home. Sober. It was hot. And I was kind. I am sure he didn’t mean to. The hot water that fell down his back, that just must have been some kind of karma.
The sun rose like always, and I returned him home. Sober. It was hot. And I was kind. I am sure he didn’t mean to. The hot water that fell down his back, that just must have been some kind of karma.
She
I was hanging out in the upstairs male bathroom, smoking out the window and gazing onto the roof and the rooms below. Just chatting about overcoming adversity. Then I found myself screaming in public. Laying my heart out on the floor. Hoping to be understood. I’d hardly made an effort that night. Wore a bearded face and all. Had an attitude of some description. At the bar, I waited for service and she came up beside me and put her arm through mine, and we ordered drinks together. She was hanging off me like we had been stuck together all our lives. She ordered champagne, and I lemonade. We moved outside to socialize, but she whispered “When can we get out of here.” I trusted her. And walked away. As we disembarked transport, she grabbed me up against the gothic gate and took my breath away. Sucked it right out of my soul. Whether we had clothes on or not was not consequential. On reflection it reminds me of how presence really matters. How desire can be kind and kindred. And how a kiss can stay with you forever.
Black Jack
This is a rather funny letter to share with you both. You see there was a time that my precious cat beat my one night stand at black jack. And connect four at that. He was surprised. Didn’t really believe it. But he wanted sex so he didn’t argue. He had many sides to him. But I kicked him out to a taxi and sent him on his way. After the fact.
The fact actually was that again he had pushed for sex without consent. He wanted oral sex but could not verbalise it. Instead pushing my head down repeatedly to his crotch. It really got my goat up. I slammed him kindly back into the bed. And explained that if he wanted anything like that he should use his words and ask. Really it was a behaviour that soured the whole night. And reminded me why picking up men was easy but soulless.
I think I stopped hunting after that.
The fact actually was that again he had pushed for sex without consent. He wanted oral sex but could not verbalise it. Instead pushing my head down repeatedly to his crotch. It really got my goat up. I slammed him kindly back into the bed. And explained that if he wanted anything like that he should use his words and ask. Really it was a behaviour that soured the whole night. And reminded me why picking up men was easy but soulless.
I think I stopped hunting after that.
Trust
It is the very thing that holds the wheat to its own shaft. So that it does not fall before its time. It is the very thing that founds our every step upon the earth, and the reception of every word upon the ear.
Trust is always something I have given to freely, yet I am vowing never to stop that approach. What has changed over time is my judgement. I am getting better at not allowing trust to become an issue. I have boundaries now. Where as I did not before. I was like wild white water. And now I balance in a canoe on a silver lake.
Reciprocity of spirit is the beauty that keeps our love from stagnating. It makes enables the Ferris Wheel to continue to go round through new highs and new lows. And I trust that we will continue to grow, as long as we allow life to come and go in its cycles. As long as we exhale each breath. And bring moisture to our lips.
Trust is always something I have given to freely, yet I am vowing never to stop that approach. What has changed over time is my judgement. I am getting better at not allowing trust to become an issue. I have boundaries now. Where as I did not before. I was like wild white water. And now I balance in a canoe on a silver lake.
Reciprocity of spirit is the beauty that keeps our love from stagnating. It makes enables the Ferris Wheel to continue to go round through new highs and new lows. And I trust that we will continue to grow, as long as we allow life to come and go in its cycles. As long as we exhale each breath. And bring moisture to our lips.
Interrupted
My relationship with my body may seem strange. It was not developed out of romance, but rather early intervention. Unwanted. Damaging abuse. Just like any abuse. I was introduced to sex before it was my time. Consequently, I grew up ashamed of my own feeling. And I have never been something that I have embraced. I feel like an odd one out. But really, I cannot feel lust unless I have a personal tangible connection. And that usually is down to fate. Or luck. Whatever you prefer. I have lost my anger about this, but still feel sad sometimes because it happened. Healing can take lifetimes. I always say you learn to cope but you never forget. It did give me the gift of seeing others shadows. So easily. I always figured that if I was not damaged young, it would have happened another way. And the hypervigilance it brings can be both a blessing and a curse. Still, it lingers. Like a scarlet letter. A permanent vulnerability apparently. Both a blessing and a curse.
Masturbation
Very rarely do I wait with a wisp on my breath after a dream. Masturbation sometimes plays out straight after a dream that secretly took me almost to that point. I wake, and realise that my body needs me. Not something that happens often. Usually years apart. But it is like fishing. If the fish are biting you should have your line in the wet. I still feel abnormal about it. But if I don’t occasionally address it, I would go crazy.
I do believe in balancing body mind and soul. Like I said, I used to go hunting. Presently I barely love myself. And celibacy has been a relatively easy place to hide. Mind over matter. And all that. You have both shown me that I am still whole, like a golden meld that runs through my veins where the breaks have occurred. And you are unravelling my lust as we build our love. If only so it can ravel into both of you. Invisible and lascivious. Sapio and metaphysical. The depths of the oceans. And the warm current flowing through it that keeps life. Thank you for enabling me to love and lust and be held. All at the same time. xx
Drunk
I do believe in balancing body mind and soul. Like I said, I used to go hunting. Presently I barely love myself. And celibacy has been a relatively easy place to hide. Mind over matter. And all that. You have both shown me that I am still whole, like a golden meld that runs through my veins where the breaks have occurred. And you are unravelling my lust as we build our love. If only so it can ravel into both of you. Invisible and lascivious. Sapio and metaphysical. The depths of the oceans. And the warm current flowing through it that keeps life. Thank you for enabling me to love and lust and be held. All at the same time. xx
Drunk
I’m drunk and I’m sick. I’m sick of being so literal with you in these letters about the past. Describing facts that I should leave behind. I want to get lost again in our loves; the facts of what is now. My heart’s conception.
The other night, I saw you roll a cigarette. It reminded me of the presence you bring to our sanctuary. A single focus of pure intention that keeps me held in your grip. The way your large hand sits in the small of my back. The way your strength moves as one when you rise me up. And the way your breath teases itself with desire.
She – you - has that same presence. But I usually find it with your engagement. From the moment I see you smile at the front door. The way you hug me and the way you choose to smell. Electric. And captivating. I am like a moth in your web. And I don’t mind a bit. Because sometimes I am also a spider.
The other night, I saw you roll a cigarette. It reminded me of the presence you bring to our sanctuary. A single focus of pure intention that keeps me held in your grip. The way your large hand sits in the small of my back. The way your strength moves as one when you rise me up. And the way your breath teases itself with desire.
She – you - has that same presence. But I usually find it with your engagement. From the moment I see you smile at the front door. The way you hug me and the way you choose to smell. Electric. And captivating. I am like a moth in your web. And I don’t mind a bit. Because sometimes I am also a spider.
Hands
I find the holding of hands such an intimate act. When my fingers found yours, in dark and in light, I realised all that was gentle and passionate and free. It has been something that always touches me when I first connect with a soul. That moment of the first touch.
He has a different way of connecting. His hand is large and rough. Not delicate like ours. But he has also a way of romancing the flume. Of treating my body with a care that allows my fire to rise within, and the waves to crash upon his shore.
But you. She. You have surprised me. And I smile when I think, so hard that my cheeks often spasm for release. Washed and dried and reapplied. In rapture or in solace. In comfort or in wild applause. Such intimate parts of ourselves on display and in full use. If we are blessed. They signal how and where our intention is. And you run them over my body with such a charge. It lights up my being, hopefully so I can continue to be a beacon for your love.
He has a different way of connecting. His hand is large and rough. Not delicate like ours. But he has also a way of romancing the flume. Of treating my body with a care that allows my fire to rise within, and the waves to crash upon his shore.
But you. She. You have surprised me. And I smile when I think, so hard that my cheeks often spasm for release. Washed and dried and reapplied. In rapture or in solace. In comfort or in wild applause. Such intimate parts of ourselves on display and in full use. If we are blessed. They signal how and where our intention is. And you run them over my body with such a charge. It lights up my being, hopefully so I can continue to be a beacon for your love.
Tears
I cried because you have both shown me the positivity and love that sits within my heart’s conception. They were tears of acceptance. They were tears of joy. Your kindness and presence and attention brought water to my eyes, that washed my face and tasted my lips.
There have been times in the past too, where I cried because of this same relief. But never as naked and raveled as I am now with you both. I have found the instances to be rare. Oh, beautiful Woman, as you hold me and bring forth my call. Oh, wonderful gentle and strong Man, as you raise me up above your body, in strength and faith and trust. How did I ever deserve to find wildflowers such as you both, in simply walking in nature. Quite often I remind my self of this very miracle of our loves. The places we meet within ourselves. Connection and reflection. Like the touch of my tears on my own skin.
There have been times in the past too, where I cried because of this same relief. But never as naked and raveled as I am now with you both. I have found the instances to be rare. Oh, beautiful Woman, as you hold me and bring forth my call. Oh, wonderful gentle and strong Man, as you raise me up above your body, in strength and faith and trust. How did I ever deserve to find wildflowers such as you both, in simply walking in nature. Quite often I remind my self of this very miracle of our loves. The places we meet within ourselves. Connection and reflection. Like the touch of my tears on my own skin.
Pocket of my Soul
My soul’s pocket is humid. Moist. Hiding in a darkness where your light is able to shine. It illuminates me. It makes me cry wail and call. It receives you there after solace, for solace and in solace. You both placate my desires. Light the fire in my soul and manage it with care. I wrestle with myself. My spasm. My contractions. Wrap around you and breath you in. It is the point of the matter. The way that a sentence ends in a full stop. The way that your body engages me. The way it is.
The pocket of my soul sits in darkness and folds in on itself with patience and joy. It holds so many emotions. Wants, desires, surprises. I long for you each at different times. I long for you to hold me steady, and lift me up. To reach into me where I have that most sacred embrace waiting for you. Our lips start the conversation our eyes have always wanted to tell, since we met. But the pocket of my soul knows that some kind of destiny has been created to bring us to this same place. And I love it. I let you in as often as possible. To light this inner space. And when we are apart, my light can be found in the window of my eyes, longing to see you again. Just waiting, like sitting on a beautiful rain forest floor. Our special ecosystem. Thriving in the balance of our loves.
Kiss
The pocket of my soul sits in darkness and folds in on itself with patience and joy. It holds so many emotions. Wants, desires, surprises. I long for you each at different times. I long for you to hold me steady, and lift me up. To reach into me where I have that most sacred embrace waiting for you. Our lips start the conversation our eyes have always wanted to tell, since we met. But the pocket of my soul knows that some kind of destiny has been created to bring us to this same place. And I love it. I let you in as often as possible. To light this inner space. And when we are apart, my light can be found in the window of my eyes, longing to see you again. Just waiting, like sitting on a beautiful rain forest floor. Our special ecosystem. Thriving in the balance of our loves.
Kiss
Before I met you both, I was biding my time. Waiting like a bird hovering in the sky, trying to finds its flock. And my thoughts would often drift when thinking about intimacy. To the kiss. The thing I was missing most about physicality. The thing that starts the process of the sacred act between two. The thing that would tell me how interested we were in each other in any given moment. The thing that I find most sensual. Bare and rare. Soft but demanding. Succulent. Like the start of a good sentence. And it is this physical intimacy that I was craving the most.
So when you greet me at the door with a wonderful hug, and the present of your lips, I know. I know that it is another opportunity for my heart to open. To be emotionally available to you. And if my lips ever retreat, you will know it because they are carrying heavy words.
Capitulate. Yield together as we depend. Catched and caught in the same moment. Falling and landing. Upon the warm and lacquered flume that bears witness to the meeting of our breath. I still long for it. More than sex. More than food. As much as the very oxygen I love.
Until we kiss again. xx
So when you greet me at the door with a wonderful hug, and the present of your lips, I know. I know that it is another opportunity for my heart to open. To be emotionally available to you. And if my lips ever retreat, you will know it because they are carrying heavy words.
Capitulate. Yield together as we depend. Catched and caught in the same moment. Falling and landing. Upon the warm and lacquered flume that bears witness to the meeting of our breath. I still long for it. More than sex. More than food. As much as the very oxygen I love.
Until we kiss again. xx
Dreaming
I dream every night. Multiple stories. But not very often including people I have met before. It’s always like a bus ride with strangers, where I do not have a clue where we will end up. A bit like the ride of love really. When I first met her, it took just seconds to fall. And when I first met him, he was like a super hero, holding me high.
My dreams often are vivid. And most times I have choice enabled. It is like my soul working out what it needs for the time being, or what problem it dwells upon. I especially love the dreams where I have been granted permission to just to hold and be held. And I know when I dream of sex, that it is my body calling me to awake again. Rarely do I know the people. And sometimes I acquire a cigarette or a spliff. And I usually then wake up feeling great. Chilled, loved, embraced. Travelled. Dreaming possesses me, but I do not possess it.
I just wanted to write to you again, to let you know that your lovings are like a dream to me. And it is a pure blessing that I am already awake when we connect. You call my soul from the subconscious depths to its surface. And I emerge in your love, bursting into fresh air, like any creature from the sea.
Thank you! xx
My dreams often are vivid. And most times I have choice enabled. It is like my soul working out what it needs for the time being, or what problem it dwells upon. I especially love the dreams where I have been granted permission to just to hold and be held. And I know when I dream of sex, that it is my body calling me to awake again. Rarely do I know the people. And sometimes I acquire a cigarette or a spliff. And I usually then wake up feeling great. Chilled, loved, embraced. Travelled. Dreaming possesses me, but I do not possess it.
I just wanted to write to you again, to let you know that your lovings are like a dream to me. And it is a pure blessing that I am already awake when we connect. You call my soul from the subconscious depths to its surface. And I emerge in your love, bursting into fresh air, like any creature from the sea.
Thank you! xx
Winter
Today is the first day of Winter – it cold, cloudy and wet. And yet sometime the sun pokes through. It is my favourite season. And how lucky am I to share it with you.
I love having an excuse to stay in bed longer on the colder days. Having an excuse to wear more clothes to stay warm and cover my figure. To get naked in a warm bed with you and hold you even closer. And to generate heat to a degree that makes us sweat our own truths in the night. The days are shorter. And the nights longer. And midsummer brings some beautiful birthday celebrations.
The frost and mist on our breaths as we walk the street from pub to pub, and you proclaim all the poetry you can muster for my ears only. And of course any passerby. Sitting around a fire, and drinking mulled wine, discussing how the Earth has always had the answers and how humanity often sees progress as a conquest rather than sustainable collaboration. Yet through Winter, and especially on the first day, I cannot help but smile like there is a nymph creating my smile, and I hope you can tell when I see you next, how I am rambling in excitement that the same nymph might visit your lips.
Happy Winters!
I love having an excuse to stay in bed longer on the colder days. Having an excuse to wear more clothes to stay warm and cover my figure. To get naked in a warm bed with you and hold you even closer. And to generate heat to a degree that makes us sweat our own truths in the night. The days are shorter. And the nights longer. And midsummer brings some beautiful birthday celebrations.
The frost and mist on our breaths as we walk the street from pub to pub, and you proclaim all the poetry you can muster for my ears only. And of course any passerby. Sitting around a fire, and drinking mulled wine, discussing how the Earth has always had the answers and how humanity often sees progress as a conquest rather than sustainable collaboration. Yet through Winter, and especially on the first day, I cannot help but smile like there is a nymph creating my smile, and I hope you can tell when I see you next, how I am rambling in excitement that the same nymph might visit your lips.
Happy Winters!
Ethereal
What do we capture when we join our lips and hips and hearts and mind? It is tantalisingly consumerable when we connect. Our spirit. Transient. But ethereal. The spirit like within and without. On our breath, on our minds. In our hearts. Like the making of a wave in the great ocean. How it builds, and rises and crests and breaks and rolls and screams, and slowly comes to a rest on the shore. Kissing the shore. Resting on its chest. Catching its breath. Then Ebbing. Flowing back out to sea to be consumed in the process over again.
The waves between her and him, are not the same. They are different beaches, and different parts of the ocean. The mist that comes from the waves, like the sleep from the ocean’s eyes. Those white horses rolling in to rescue the fair maiden all just in time.
And there are times, when I sit on the shore and simply witness this process. Even sometimes when we make love, I can sit outside my body, above and witness the exchange of spirit. Feel the heat. And see the truth. Playing out like a dance. A dance that has followed me all my life. That you both have brought again to my door. With such grace and passion. Somethings never to forget.
Presence
The waves between her and him, are not the same. They are different beaches, and different parts of the ocean. The mist that comes from the waves, like the sleep from the ocean’s eyes. Those white horses rolling in to rescue the fair maiden all just in time.
And there are times, when I sit on the shore and simply witness this process. Even sometimes when we make love, I can sit outside my body, above and witness the exchange of spirit. Feel the heat. And see the truth. Playing out like a dance. A dance that has followed me all my life. That you both have brought again to my door. With such grace and passion. Somethings never to forget.
Presence
It’s like when I hold my hand close to yours and I can feel your heat. Your presence. Your energy. But it is more than that. It is the pure intention that helps it manifest. That holds it brazen to my own being. That touches like white fire, the fibres that knit my being. And sparks in my soul a whole fire, that yearns. That resonates with our touch.
And when the presence is carried with words. And your eye focused on mine. That I feel that connection that is strong and quiet and loving. And such an induction to my soul. It is like watching the birth of my heart’s conception. Like a new child being conceived in that nanosecond. Like my own soul being fed the nectar that keeps it blossoming, even in Winter.
Presence is the something more that I crave in my connections. And you both bring it in thousands. While the way you both love me is different, presence is the commonality. It is like the door that I allow people to see when I want them to venture close. And you both enter my realm regularly. Like bringing hot food with you on your smile and trip, as you knock on my door, and embrace me in order to gain entry. Again, to experience another birthing of my heart’s conception. And it is simply so beautiful. I understand it is not without pure intent or effort. And I appreciate it. I hope you both feel welcomed. Every time you visit me here.
And when the presence is carried with words. And your eye focused on mine. That I feel that connection that is strong and quiet and loving. And such an induction to my soul. It is like watching the birth of my heart’s conception. Like a new child being conceived in that nanosecond. Like my own soul being fed the nectar that keeps it blossoming, even in Winter.
Presence is the something more that I crave in my connections. And you both bring it in thousands. While the way you both love me is different, presence is the commonality. It is like the door that I allow people to see when I want them to venture close. And you both enter my realm regularly. Like bringing hot food with you on your smile and trip, as you knock on my door, and embrace me in order to gain entry. Again, to experience another birthing of my heart’s conception. And it is simply so beautiful. I understand it is not without pure intent or effort. And I appreciate it. I hope you both feel welcomed. Every time you visit me here.
Fever
You would not know it from the beautiful sunshine outside, but last night I was unravelling. Rage and fury simmered beneath the essence of my skin. And I felt like I was mad. Like there was no where I could confide at that time of night. Like enough words had been spoken. And I had to act. To get out of this skin, and into my old one. Unfortunately this simmering is familiar to me, and no longer scares me. But I dare not wake either of you for help, because it is my responsibility. To keep my feet on the ground and my head on my shoulders.
Now it has all passed. And I am still standing like a tree. Tall and still. Flourishing even though I do not move. All my favourite trees do this. How long can I be like them, you ask?
How long can you keep bringing me water and sunshine?
Now it has all passed. And I am still standing like a tree. Tall and still. Flourishing even though I do not move. All my favourite trees do this. How long can I be like them, you ask?
How long can you keep bringing me water and sunshine?
Water II
It beads from your skin when we mix our bodies. It vibrates in my cells when the music is loud. It is massaged into my layers when we fight or laugh or dance. It is consumed by my body like an essence. And I believe that the water I have consumed has passed through many systems before it. It carries the memory of its journeys. It has an echo like a storm cloud. Like a glacier. Like a poet’s lung from hundreds of years before it. I find it essential to my existence. Just as it is for the Earth. And just like it is for us.
Her caress is like water. It is gentle and giving and essential. I remember when I wash my body and cleanse, when I see the beads of water running down the shower screen. Or when I gently wash and soothe my body in a bath in Autumn.
His breath is heavy and hot like steam, and the scent of his body is empowered by moisture. I could not envisage an embrace that was dry and cool. For our meetings are always tainted with fire that simmers the root of my soul.
And water empowers it all.
Her caress is like water. It is gentle and giving and essential. I remember when I wash my body and cleanse, when I see the beads of water running down the shower screen. Or when I gently wash and soothe my body in a bath in Autumn.
His breath is heavy and hot like steam, and the scent of his body is empowered by moisture. I could not envisage an embrace that was dry and cool. For our meetings are always tainted with fire that simmers the root of my soul.
And water empowers it all.
Music
She was the drummer. She brought music that called from the earth to the heavens. She brought the vibrations that mixed my blood with my water. And she knew exactly what she was doing.
He danced with me like a drunkard. I would lose track of my footing and he would still catch me before I fell. There was this time, when music and he raised me up so high, that the vertigo was coloured in light. That the time was endless. And nothing else mattered.
And yet an angry song would sometimes poison the soul. A release for someone, is a toxin for another.
And there are times when I am by myself. I play the tunes that take me home. That wear out my insides. That are cathartic for that moment in time. And I don’t share that process often. It is a private space. A moment. Where I nurture myself, myself. My relationship with music is another fine lover, whom I can always turn to for embrace and understanding. And it is because of this, I count myself a very lucky woman indeed.
He danced with me like a drunkard. I would lose track of my footing and he would still catch me before I fell. There was this time, when music and he raised me up so high, that the vertigo was coloured in light. That the time was endless. And nothing else mattered.
And yet an angry song would sometimes poison the soul. A release for someone, is a toxin for another.
And there are times when I am by myself. I play the tunes that take me home. That wear out my insides. That are cathartic for that moment in time. And I don’t share that process often. It is a private space. A moment. Where I nurture myself, myself. My relationship with music is another fine lover, whom I can always turn to for embrace and understanding. And it is because of this, I count myself a very lucky woman indeed.
Panic
Sometimes it is simply because I cannot find the right clothes to wear for an occasion with you. But sometimes it is because I am falling in love with you even more.
It is so crucial for me to hold space for you. For us. For him. And for her. So when I feel myself rotating in the ether and falling… just that little bit further. I have to remind myself to still let us breathe. Not to fill the space with words or noise. Not to be nervously wrecked like a ship on the bottom of the ocean. And to remind myself that my happiness is a broader concern.
Happiness. It is not just elation. But something more. Something much broader than my shoulders could ever heave. Happiness is a hundred little things each day. More broadly, it is contentment. It is safety. It is good company. And a pleasant solitude. And all the little things that go into making those things happen. Like getting another glass of water to drink. Or eating an apple. Or listening.
If ever I give into panic, and hold you too tight. If ever you come by and find me unhappy. Remind me of gratitude. Remind me of holding and being held. I am sure both of you can taste often that it is presence that lets us breathe. That lets us live. That grows our loves.
I seem to never forget.
Something
It is so crucial for me to hold space for you. For us. For him. And for her. So when I feel myself rotating in the ether and falling… just that little bit further. I have to remind myself to still let us breathe. Not to fill the space with words or noise. Not to be nervously wrecked like a ship on the bottom of the ocean. And to remind myself that my happiness is a broader concern.
Happiness. It is not just elation. But something more. Something much broader than my shoulders could ever heave. Happiness is a hundred little things each day. More broadly, it is contentment. It is safety. It is good company. And a pleasant solitude. And all the little things that go into making those things happen. Like getting another glass of water to drink. Or eating an apple. Or listening.
If ever I give into panic, and hold you too tight. If ever you come by and find me unhappy. Remind me of gratitude. Remind me of holding and being held. I am sure both of you can taste often that it is presence that lets us breathe. That lets us live. That grows our loves.
I seem to never forget.
Something
There is something about her I must tell you about. I must share. She rises and falls in every word that falls upon my ear. She embraces me without touch, like a beautiful soft breeze in Spring. She holds no promise and yet promises it all to me. Without preconception of what I must do to receive her love. It is such a majestic and wonder filled thing, that I can only count my blessing every day. And when I am crawling on the ground and struggling to pick myself up, she comes around and lays beside me. Whispers on her breath. A connection that as a young person I had never envisaged. Only hoped. And of course, never spoken about.
There is something about her. There is always something about her. She nurtures and prunes. Waters and weeds at the same time. And she loves me! I write it here to you, because I hold it all so preciously. I hold so that it does not break. And I am protective. I know I should have more faith of the unbreakable. But I am human I remember. Something. She brings it every time I see her. And in my heart, I am so appreciative that you allow me to love her, as much as I love you. Thank you. xx
There is something about her. There is always something about her. She nurtures and prunes. Waters and weeds at the same time. And she loves me! I write it here to you, because I hold it all so preciously. I hold so that it does not break. And I am protective. I know I should have more faith of the unbreakable. But I am human I remember. Something. She brings it every time I see her. And in my heart, I am so appreciative that you allow me to love her, as much as I love you. Thank you. xx
The Curve
The curve of her breast as she lay lounging. Freshly peeled. Ageless. Another something O’so quiet. And then there is my favourite part of him. The angle of his flank, bare and brazen. Taught and mobile. Strong. Another curve to wonder upon.
What be your favourite part of my flesh? My lips? My hips? The saddle of my back bone? My hair? I wonder sometimes too much. For I cannot change myself. It is always a lesson on compassion. Forgiving myself for being me. And forgiving myself for loving you.
I have poured myself out with the ink from my blood. To you both over months now. I have almost caught up to my age. I hope you can appreciate how I have undressed myself. Moments at a time. In all kinds of weather. I leave you with a smile. I only have another 22 letters in me. Then I will have to let you go wordless, into the next. But like Maya Angelou said, I will “never forget the way you have made me feel”. And such clarity your love has brought my soul. Forever yours, xx.
What be your favourite part of my flesh? My lips? My hips? The saddle of my back bone? My hair? I wonder sometimes too much. For I cannot change myself. It is always a lesson on compassion. Forgiving myself for being me. And forgiving myself for loving you.
I have poured myself out with the ink from my blood. To you both over months now. I have almost caught up to my age. I hope you can appreciate how I have undressed myself. Moments at a time. In all kinds of weather. I leave you with a smile. I only have another 22 letters in me. Then I will have to let you go wordless, into the next. But like Maya Angelou said, I will “never forget the way you have made me feel”. And such clarity your love has brought my soul. Forever yours, xx.
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