Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Purple Princess

My blood is violet,
my aura, lilac,
amethyst around my wrist,
soft kisses and passive violence.
Sweet as jam,
the right kind of timeless,
heather in my hair,
as I hold onto healing.
I was once reeling,
reaching outside the raindrops,
feeling nothing,
until I took a break from myself,
deciding I could smile,
if I wanted to,
and that I could share sensual summers with Saints and spirits.
I am the daughter of Prometheus,
Athena’s angel.
My cards are on the table,
telling me all the things that I already know,
weary sighs are my symphony,
as I sleep with my eyes open.
I am a widow of my own war,
sangria spills from my eyes,
and I am at peace with what I’ve done to myself.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Gemini Season Approaches

A warm, clear May day,
maybe I’ll see you in June, instead.
I just know that the steps I take lead to somewhere.
I’ve had dreams again,
the kind of dreams that I can’t run from,
the kind of dreams that wake up beside me and remind me that I have something left to do before I go.
So I go back into the world,
full of questions,
but full of the idea that I wouldn’t still be waking and walking,
if there wasn’t a plan.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Woes Of The Wife Guy

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun,
and I should be grateful that she was altruistic enough to exist that way,
for my own eyes follow hers with no cessation,
and were her gaze like the sun,
my own eyes would shrivel and burn,
my mind sent mad at the endless daylight.
She lets me rest, by her side,
my heartbeat, performing percussion against the cool, cruelty of her body.
I stare up at her with curious, dependent wonder in my stares and she states quite plainly, that I belong to her completely.
What can I do, but say yes?
What can I do when her breathing is slow and seductive, and she is on top of me?
What can I do, when she plays statesman, guiding me towards the safety of spread legs, obedient sighs and the kind of satisfaction that will make me put a cross against her name, again and again?
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun,
but in my eyes,
they are nothing short of spectacular,
stealing the colour of the deepest oceans,capturing the magnificence of roaring seas in her sweet stare,
and letting me stare, and stare and stare.
To share such beauty,
and let me go mad,
to let me go from blushing bride to full time wife guy,
is the kindest kind of cruelty.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Eye Spy

Rainbows are nice but I am enticed by lavender,
my favourite colour when I was a fawn.
Ever since I was born,
I have kept a collection of the most marvellous marbles in my imagination,
for I am a hoarder of gazes,
grazing as I daydream about the eyes that pierce my soul,
keep me whole and humble.

I have always been a great admirer of eyes.
My lover’s eyes are turquoise treasure,
but I have adored brown eyes,
green and everything in between,
never noticing who the eyes belonged to,
or which bathroom they went into,
or what lies beneath the lace or is contained in the cotton of their underwear.

I do not care about an inch of the rest of them,
my interest has a one track mind,
yes, my darling,
your eyes are up there,
I promise you that I’ve noticed.

Any heart is a home to me,
any hole is a reason to demonstrate how shy I can be,
any hand fits into mine quite perfectly.
Spirit, serenity, sexuality,
a multiplying duality,
that grows and grows each time my own eyes glow with the beginning of love.

My eyes, dark with a side of brightness,
like a small light in a vast cave,
that grows, the closer you get,
so please,
feel free to get close and see.
A shade of brown that feels warm but distant, all at once,
just like the one I gifted to my son,
who I can picture exactly, despite having yet to see him in the flesh.