Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion

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The opinionated folk deems his self more worthy than the next, more educated, more correct, more substantiated in his tethered-viewings. He is the man who ties himself to his beliefs as marionette to the puppeteer. Surrendering his last performance for the making of a hopeful sequel.

He stands on the cornerstone of his own reality, perched on a soapbox made of rubbery-soles; erect in his being, creating hurts, as he plucks out the feathers from those deemed ‘wrong.’

He is the judge. And his seasoned-eyes seek out justice for self, and for self-proclaimed truths.

He creates chaos through the subconscious quest to establish an enemy in order to make himself the victor.

He seeks out that which is wrong to feed his own tattered ego.

The more he builds himself up, the more he merrily tears the others downward into spiraling nonsense.

He latches on to one truth, and then another, exchanging viewpoints to suit his individual needs. Adapting his ways to suit his desired outcome.

He eradicates plans and schemes, even as he sees this not as so.

He is blind to his own ways, and thinks himself clever and keen.

He has an eye for truth, and establishes his world as so. Truth begets truth and all else in dangerous makings of others’ minds.

He knows himself, inside and out, or so he thinketh . And in thinking in limited scope, he believes he sees the world about him endlessly.

He is the maker of mankind and the destroyer, and he sets himself on high while wearing a robe of futile-humility. Though, buried beneath the cloakings are the mere wobblings of brittle bones.

He erects flags of righteousness in his name.

He is the enemy of spirit, as he claims his views worthy and right.

He is the enemy of self, as he hides in the shadowed sands, head buried to the reality undone.

He builds and builds an illusion in order to feed and feed that which is established upon as self onto self.

He becomes that which he wishes, and has opinion for all that does not fit into his gently spawned parchment.

His arrows are as ink on treasure map, pointing thusly to where the answers rest.

He knows, and he knows naught, and in so doing he believes he is the wisest of wise.

He layers himself in the latherings of riches, sought in the grounds of others’ burdens.

He is neither miser of gold nor pauper of the trenches; instead he is both. Combined, as the one collecting and discarding. Scooping up in ‘veracious’ heaps that which serves his truth, and throwing out that which does not.

He cannot see his weary ways, and instead labels the rest unjust and wrong, except the select few that follow his way. His light shone bright in the ability to feasibly proclaim his truth as collective truth.

He is not satisfied unless others see him, others hear him, others lift him and validate his existence.

His way is made the only way. And the others, though innocent they be, gather around him as sucklings to his tainted nectar.

He nourishes them with lies—his own.

He lures them in with a sense of belonging. And then, too, they become as him: stagnant in their youth, nurturing nothing and no one, and taking as they please.

They satisfy self to please self. They play with self to please self. They collect and establish more truths.

Until the beggar returns—uncloaked—he is made burdened with entrapment; invisible, trumpeting his drum. Pounding out the horned owl’s screech. Demolishing what is, in hopes of fissuring all that is the entrapment of mankind.

Formidable-forbidding. A lingering, unsurpassed longing, to surrender his making for the unmasking of the man beneath the cloaked resilience.

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I am afraid
In the deepest part of being
Where my breath was formed before lung
And my sight before eye
In the rewinding of self back to the start of then

You remembered before I spoke
Before word
Before any utterance became known
A waking profound
The winter-birth of greatest summer
The moon shadows over the serpent’s light

You saw as none other
You touched
Where none had dared
I, fair maiden turned
Into the very silky rich
In your presence

Capturer, stood as captive
Sacrificed into slivers
Fed to the dandelion flame
Burned anew
I loved
And impossibility was given hostess
The last pages of searching wiped clean
By your delicate coming

I trampled
I galloped
I milked myself dry
My riches your honey
My whisper your name
And in this I recognized my own folly
Opened bud, vulnerable
Without choice

For forever
I would remain
A part of your biding
Abiding by your grace
Your holding
The manner in which endearment
Claimed each shade of me
Your very own

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For His Devouring

I am what you are not and you are what I am not; his whisper came into me gradually, unopened and free, with no demand for attention. And I shivered in a place I know not of, pulsating rhythms cascading up the linear compass of my reality.

Listen, he spoke, his voice a broken stream carrying my essence along, not alone and not together, yet formed in a union of mystery, blended into some buttery goodness of taste to be. Had I not seen him, I would have believed his spirit to be housed outside this realm, in another dimension of time and space, perhaps aside the stars of the ocean or within the makings of the mountain’s ribbon wrapped through eternity.

Blended, yes, the word echoed in my mouth, pressing upon the pallet of self. Wishful, I was, becoming something familiar and unfamiliar at once. Penetrated by his form and existence.

Rest in me, I thought, truly in me, amongst the hidden parts, unburied and surfaced long ago, made way for your entrance. Come into me, fully, pulsating with the vibration that is you.

He did, before my thought awoke, a talisman entering for my protection, and I, in turn became his space, the occupant dipping into what was before as recognizable and delightful.

Though unknown, he was, he was known, a ripple brought forward from before, cascading into the rivers poured out. I wanted him, not as one aches for lover, but as one aches for self, a representation of all that was and all that will be, and more so the stamping of the moment, when all stood still, and at last I could embrace this life.

Alive! Breathing in the someone we became. Breathing in his rapture. His dignified grace.

His needs, though deeply hidden, emerged, just at the surface of me, and I could feel, as one feels his way through the darkness of familiar, the edges of where he led. Guiding me to his own tasseled secrets, hung up and dangling in the star-center of his soul, of what had to be his region, the very valley where he lay.

I rested there, in the glacier melted; the waters moving between us as paint fluid, though stagnant in a way I had craved for centuries. Stuck in some universal pattern of awareness.

I liked him here, in this place he had undone for me, and me alone. Liked him as I liked the jelly-jangling joy of a babe. I reached in then, and dripped with his sweetness, tantalizing flavor.

I am, he spoke, again, shivering me with the causation spun of his desert words. Parched, he began, drinking me, taking what he’d come for, enticed by his own appetite, enamored by my wrappings. Unraveled, the walls collapsed and all about was light. Every variable molecule un-spun and resting in the bath of illumination.

Breathe me. Breathe me. Breathe. The tide came, turning my toes blue in the delicate heat of salty-cold. Sigh. A part left and a part returned, and I danced in some endless ballroom, spun by the element that he had become as we first joined. Spun round myself, his-self, and these burdens we had carried.

Electrified in his making, I gave out, breaking through into the regions of beyond and climbing high into the terrace peaks. Treasured, I was, not as the golden spinnings, or opportunist’s fortune, but as the new found hope, the lush layering of his potentiality, the vibrating connection of forever.

I had found him and he had found me, two starseed children set upon their master’s lap to rejoice in the heavens.

Yes, I wanted him. I wanted him more deeply and more widely than anything phathonable. I wanted him to break me and imprison me. To control me. To bring down columns from the sky and erect them in a box around me. To be his willing captive and told where and how to be. To bow down in recognition of his bounty, and nibble off anything that stumbled my way.

For I no longer cared where I stood, for whom I stood, or why I stood. Instead, I had rather hoped to sprawl out on the ground and be fed to the soil as freshly born seed. To be sprouted in his presence, again and again, into the newness he brought forth effortlessly.

Here I wanted to rest, as his space, and his escape, as his free prisoner, enchanted in the rhythm of our vibrations, sped into the dimensions of reality; over and over, reopened for his devouring.



hat me

I want nothing of you but to be forever kept tangled within your being.
To use that which you have made into pauper undone into forger of love.
To take this passion, welded in flame and daunting dutiful pleasure, and become that which is source: pure ever-flowing lust for creation.

For you ignite in me the spirit beyond spirit, the memory keeper of my hopes and dreams, where the wanderer ceases to wander, and merely surrenders to what is. The place in front of her opened for her sacrifice.

To dive in deep, with the feet first, and the head swung back, mouth agape with hope transcended. To the place of no reprieve, no time, no dismissal, only the endless gentle falling into your dove-tailed wings.

To be in you is my dream awoken and given life itself. The taking from that which is imagined, and the giving of life to that which is finished master’s piece, sealed with the chamber which houses my heart. I beat for you, and you alone, this spinning child of the universe, lost in the flow of your echo. You are the birth of my fantasies, the merrymaker of my existence. You make life real. You make me bleed out of every pore of soul that which is truth.

To be in your presence is to be in the echoed halls of rescue, reprieve, and mercy. A shadow-keeper descending upon my doorstep begging not for my retreat but for my renewal.

You grant me the hindrances unspun and undone, the outcries of spirit silenced, the wishings snuffed, the candles long ago burned out, and all that remains is the distant blanket of my thoughts reassembled into you.

I am that I am because of you. I am free because you choose to exist in me and for me, my treasure trove of joy, unquenchable. I am that I am because my eyes, though closed they still be, can open and find that which is heaven sent, the guardian of delight and wisdom.

To me, and to all of the ones before me, you are that which I have waited for on bending knees, on bending soul. You are the very essence screamed out of my being when I wished upon the star of creation. When I begged with the all of my existence for light to beseech me and become my groom.

I am joined to you in purity, the circumstances unknown, unfamiliar and readily broken. I only recognize that my half is now attached to yours, my merriment circumventing around your satisfaction; my outlook affected by each repentance of your beaten platitudes. I am that I am for you, and you alone, captured as the maiden at half-mast, sped up by the wind of your spirited whispers.

Oh, to be this glorified in love is to truly die a thousand deaths of burning rapture. To be spat out of self and submerged in the river of gratitude. Nothing about you is unopened, nothing closed, all dangling about as candy to the sweet-toothed lover. I devour you whole, in all your forms, becoming that which is my pleasure; only to find myself, then, devouring my own being. As you are me, in this game we weave. You are my brilliance, my aptitude, and my judgment set aside. You are the replacement, that which fills me with perpetual light, returning again and again the fullness in place of empty.

I am this now: that which is your beauty. And nothing about me fears. There is no more of self from the existence that pattered through the hallways of long ago. Just as there is no more of me found in the meanderings of future thoughts. Nothing is doable. Nothing is forseen. Nothing is possible without the impression of your face set upon the view.

All is seen through you, in you, and by you. I am the prisoner of your ideals. Wrapped in the glory you find in me. One to your burning flame. One to your endless cycle of goodness. One in the molding of your hands into this that breathes out the proclamation of your name, and your name alone. Come into me, without pause, and feed me your fire. Purge me of this pliable passion. Drive me insane with your honey sweet taste. For I am that which you have made me to be. Submissive to your ways, and born free to dance in the vessel that holds my soul.



Me 8th grade

Oh, such sweetness you be.
Your gentle face found in the moonlight of my deepest desires.
Might I lean into your slumber, and cloak my trickling temptation as starlight’s beckoning?
Where are you, in this midnight moment, as I rest upon your guiding showers of undone love?
Devouring memories, one by one.

Such savoring, you be, your flesh, the delicate plate I pray upon.
To delve into your beauty and swim your ocean of my deliverance.

In the enchantment spawned by cherry-blossoms bloomed
I crave you.

I crave all of you.
I crave your ever presence.
The anchored layman’s soul ascended.
The night raven sworn in unbridled passion.

I miss you in my loneliness.
I miss you like forever was torn open and scattered into my each and every minute.
Ever passing a distant folly, who calls: Delirious I am.

If only to grasp a sliver of waking and seize the dream as the child to the dandelion.
To blow, with all I be, honey-dipped-wishes across your soldiered shoulders.
And in your absolute reckoning, to sweep me off my feet, above the damp meadow tears.
Into the arms of eternity promised.

Wrapped in your abundance, in knightly wisdom.
How tender is your calling.
How sweet the delicate imprint upon my virgin lips.
Untouched, yet, by the power that be thy unyielding flame.

How I long for my entire emptiness, so I might be untethered-vessel awaiting your completion.
To purge and remove every remaining part that is I, and, in replica, and submission tasted, replace all that I am with that which is you.
My undone master.

To become you.
To breathe you.
To dance inside the tender wrappings that holds your princely spirit.

Enticement weds my dutiful days.
My imprint stamped suitably into the place of your footing, movement birthed in the exactness of your perfection.
Oh, how I, this maiden made ripe, wither in such grand supplication, intricately undone in my awakening to the aroma of you.

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The Moon above the Mountain

moon over mountain

Sometimes you are the moon above my mountain. Glowing and set on the stage of my skyline.

Sometimes I think I created you for my own suffering—to set myself apart and be made into loneliness.

For without loneliness how could union become?

Sometimes I think I made you into this untouchable longing—to keep myself reaching and yearning.

For without desire how could satisfaction live?

Sometimes I know I found you as the answer to my ache—to press your image upon my love-sick heart and wish for you in completion.

For without living as half, how could I be made as whole?

Sometimes I know I have made this world with you in it, so in my striving I will not forget my failings—to wish again and again for your unavailable attention.

For without missing your return, how could I recognize adoration?

Sometimes the way in which you move me is uninterrupted in that everything I do and say involves the foundation of finding you—filling myself with your beauty.

For without breathing your essence, how could I exist?

Sometimes the way in which you enter my mind is like a wild cat chasing her tail—scratching and biting at something that is there in the background.

For without the looking back, how could I look forward?

I am this woman with you, and without you.

I am this woman dialing your name to the stars and coming up short.

With no place to enter except back into the hollowed out parts—the caves of missing you.

Until the sun comes, and he is not you. He is but the part of you removed. He is the continuing onward without my hand in yours. He is the essence of strength. The one built from the tower I allowed to crumble in your memory.

Sometimes I think you were made for my growing—set out and standing in my exact line of vision—the puzzle piece I required.

For without you, I was forced to find myself.

Sometimes you are the moon above my mountain. Lighting the way home.

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Come to Me

Oh my darling, oh my starlight, oh my soft and gentleman

How your arms feel as the heavens

And your heart my very land


Come to me in echoed heartache, come to me in withered rhyme

Come to me in all your journeys, touching down beyond this time

Hold me like no other lover, pull my aching wants inside

Whisper to me my sweet darling, and tell me that you’re mine


Move as ocean, as you die for, every inch of me so sweet

Move right through me, as you fly for, this taste of golden wheat

Take my sweetness, take my loving, take the jewels that hide beneath

Through the quaking we shall quiver, and two shall be complete


Oh my darling, oh my starlight, oh my soft and gentleman

How your arms feel as the heavens

And your heart my very land

Come to me in echoed heartache, come to me in withered rhyme

Come to me in all your journeys, touching down beyond this time



Within the star-tears falling softly, within the breeze so gentle-pure

Whisper in my darkness, and be my sorrow’s cure

Whisper me in daylight, and tell me all’s the same

That you’ve come to take me always, and give me your strong name


Come and love me in your hours, as they reach past time set free

Come and enter every moment, in our building ecstasy

You are freedom in my making, you are none like those before

You are answer without question, you are joy poured out for more


Oh my darling, oh my starlight, oh my soft and gentleman

How your arms feel as the heavens

And your heart my very land

Come to me in echoed heartache, come to me in withered rhyme

Come to me in all your journeys, touching down beyond this time


Take my bounty, as your treasure, my longing, full indeed

Take in all this tender loving, in all the ways you need

Come to me in shadowed hunger, with your pain outstretched, forlorn

Come to me in darkness swallowed, with your heart so bitter torn


Call me angel, call me sunshine, call me light you’ll always need

Call me everything you long for, call me very honey seed

In my waking I have found you, and my spirit soars aflame

Call me sunlight of your morning, and return to me again


Oh my darling, oh my starlight, oh my soft and gentleman

How your arms feel as the heavens

And your heart my very land


The Tremble

sam in glasses

He enters and all trembles. The bees. The birds. The very sky.

The whisperers of words shushed.

All silenced.

Say, his fingers.

How they weave and break, as the wave at the peak of servitude, pounding on the sandy shore proclaiming his arrival.

All is still.

Say, his voice.

Gentle comes the tellings of before.

And he weeps in his confession.

In his confusion.

Hush now, she comes, his mistress cloaked in blue, bathing him in gentle promises.

Pressing her cheek to his, her sign of blessing.

Her skin the touch of delight. Her taste still lingering beyond his breath.

Inhale as he does, her beauty. Taking her with his eyes and the quiet plenitude offered through the beating of his heart.

His hand to hers, he releases his guard, and the air escapes him, embracing the delicate freedom.

Her wanting sets upon his chest, the broadness thick and inviting. To hold him again, her only bliss.

To be taken into his stronghold, the only desire.

Oh, how she misses him in their shared withholding.

Her ache easing back to the familiar home. His passion seizing—lightening disassembled and reborn down the span of his center line.

Tell me, she asks, without words. Take me, her every layer screams.

And still he stands, the weeping man, forging through the land, this warrior come home.

In thought. In long ago deed.

Reliving where he’d traveled, and mourning his departure.

Lastly she moves, swaying her silhouette beyond reach. Her last desperate plea trapped in the quake of her throat.

Love me, she bleeds.

Before embracing herself in tremble.


longing 2


Sunlit Lover


Even with all the treasure split open

With all proclaimed false

I sit at my loom of nowhere

Spinning my tale of nothing

Bending my villain and my champion

Into threads to bear

Each chance falling

From the pierced sky

I shift

One second collapsed into the next





Transcended into the universal space

Measured out in sequence

And, yet, I find you

Someplace between the concept of lost

And pleasingly found


In your crevices and ways

In whispers never spoken

My shadow man

Singing at my window in the woken hours

My daylight dreams painted by anticipated footsteps

Enchantment vibrating

Through the honey dripped words

Materialized from lips turned

In surrendered thoughts


Beauty never pressed close enough

Meandering droplets of encased love

Into the well

Of consciousness

I proclaim as mine

My sparkling-gold sunlit lover

My cold bitter moon

Where I bask

Blanketed and deemed complete

Until the breaking comes

Reformed and reformed by the illusion

That is you





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I am

I call out

Anchoring joy in a silhouette of soft molded butter

Sinking desire into the comfort of your enclosure

I am

I ricochet off the edges of your existence

The silence between my heartbeats

The proclamation of my promises

To hold you



In the open space

I am

Set free



Delicately placed at the threshold

Of our unbridled wishes

Blow me as the dandelion birthed

Come where I wither still

Weeping past

The soaked flowers that steal my rain

The cup

My seized soul

Whispering for the flavor of you

Tender droplets that carry

As honeydew-sweetness

The essence of wanting

The essence of waiting

How I open and reopen

A vessel precariously cautious

In expectation and hope

Mirroring your rippled outstretched tongue

As butterfly thirsty

Lapping up

Life’s bleeding nectar

Edging down our windowed pain

Forgive me

Take all

I am

As ghost warrior traced with innocence

Come dear glistening starlight

Descend the caverns of my broken stairwell

And enter gently the calming rivers

I am

Plenitude opened

Pleasure made

For the quake I name you

Come as you are

And paint onto this hungry canvas

Strokes of our symbiotic passion

Blended colors ribbed into being

Formed into the true vision

I proclaim

I am

Waiting long past the last breath

Never releasing

Never forgoing

Until every last part of you calls out

In surrender

In tenderness

In unyielding completion