ladykytte

Repetitive motion and a small still place inside myself opens up. I kneel there in the cave in the dark no noise, but the feeling comes back with each repetition Quiet, alone I become more myself in this place A dim reflection I didn't see before, a me that is not me with each motion. Lights! There are lights and I see clearly now Surrender to the peace of knowing, moving in rhythm, moving deeper into the cave of myself and new discoveries with every step.

You have asked and so I come. Brought forth in darkness to be the light the heat of birth the promise of the future In the horns of stag under molt In the leap of salmon under ice In the hawk's cry under cold sky In the new shoots under snow You have asked, and so I come. My bride in white awaits her defense for my to melt make her mine and begin again.

At the edge, standing like Icharus, not sure if these wings will work. I\'ve had them for a while just left them unused, forgotten about the muscles that make them go. It\'s a long way down and a long way across, and if I go, will you be there? I look back for you, nervous, feet shifting, restless to fly away from this road that led me here to this choice of up or down. Still there? ok, then... But it\'s not you, exactly, is it? You\'re here too, with the wings weak from being tied down, new pinfeathers finally long enough to do something with. How did we get here? This place is unsafe. I don\'t like it. We should

Light the fire underneath and dive in. Easier said than done. Once you're in, you're in. Curl up, you'll be there a while. It's bad, worse than your worse nightmare. You don't get to keep anything, and first to go will be that quilt you wrapped around your head. Gotta be able to see all the stuff you dragged in there with you. Take a good look. Amazing how all the crap fits in this tiny crucible of you. Watch it burn away, then realize you're in line too. You'll feel the pain again eventually. Lots of it. I told you so. But it's sweet too. The trick is in the tears. Wash off the layers to find your smile again. It's

and determined to get myself into trouble to get a rise out of you. for glory? (no.) for doom? (maybe.) hand and foot. to my choice. to this altar of pain. to be scared. to hate you. to adore you. to regret this. to hurt you. to be hurt. to lose it all.

I. \"Clever fingers\", said my grandmother as I smoothed the ache from her calves. An act done of love, sitting at her feet, a form of worship and devotion. Is this where I learned to traffic in the economy of touch? Why I feel the need to reach out and slide my hand along the flat planes of your body every time I see you? How the permission to lay myself alongside you is as tantalizing to me as the apple was to Eve and holds more promise in it than the word of god to his faithful? Clever fingers, indeed, to make of me a mendicant for your affection.

Above me, Sharptooth looms, feral grin panting with a flash of fang. But somewhere in your gold eyes, I can see the real you. I wonder how we got here, to this Wolf place, where i am to be the grandmother and not the woodsman this time. Not the girl either - for I know I have a Wolf at my door, there can be no guessing games between us. Devour me. Shake me by the neck like a pup who's played too harshly. I will lay at your feet, acknowledge the alpha, lick your wounds, and love you for it.

we lay on white sheets with the unsuspecting traffic and giggling hotel maids flanking the room from the outside. but i don't hear them at all. all i hear is the sound of your voice, your breath, your heartbeat against my ear as I curl next to you, close my eyes and memorize your scent. In this self imposed darkness i find you, let my hands run along you, learning you by touch, a kind of lover's braille written in planes and curves; your body a book who's plot is ever changing that i could pick up again and again and again and always find delight in the final chapter.

Sweet, sweet kisses taken from my lips while we are caught in the yellow orange glow of the sodium streetlight which half illuminates your new front seat. You are my addiction, and I would do anything and anything and anything and everything over and over again until all that is left of me is you; give my self into your keeping and become an empty shell waiting to be filled with your want, a blank slate, wiped clean, waiting to be written upon in your hand if only i could have one just one just one more sweet sweet kiss.

What an island you are, my love, and now me, washed up on your shore. What must you think of me, this person who embraces the beauty of all of you; who can appreciate not only the white sands and palm trees but the sheared rock and the fissured earth and the fire that erupts from within? How strange it must be to have me set up my little hut and wait to discover another of your secret vistas. How strange it must be to have me climb the sharp igneous, and lay down at the crater's edge to brave the lava. How strange it must be, but i am not new to this, only new to you. There are other islands, and other huts