Feeling it roll off of my eager tongue and lips.
The way words caress my heart and soul as I read or scrawl them down onto paper.
There’s something so sacred and beautiful about how the words and meanings weave together, creating an experience. A story. A sacred portal to embody who we are and what we desire further. I wanted to share a few poems that I’ve written recently. I don’t have names for them at this time they will probably remain unnamed. That’s the beautiful of it sometimes, be Receptive.
Leaning into the feeling of being in this skin.
Of being in these bones.
The lines that turn into rivers.
The shapes that bend and flex over thighs, hips and collar bones.
The way breasts melt into your hands.
The nectar deep within her body. Aphrodite in between your legs. Worship her.
She is holy. She is wise.
She is your guide.
Your compass.
Flowers are medicinal.
They speak to me.
Their beauty captivates me.
Enchants me.
They put me under their hypnotic spell.
They whisper lovingly.
I lean in and listen.
They cradle drops of moonlit dew.
The lush petals unfurl with the rising sun.
They greet the blades of grass swaying in the wind.
The butterflies sip their sweet, divine nectar.
The flowers share their wisdom.
Their medicine.
Their potent, healing beauty.
The sacred queens of the plant kingdom.
Exquisite. Intricate. Delicate. I will forever be fascinated by the power of ritual. The beauty, meaning and pleasure found in ritual that only comes from deep trust and sensual surrender. From being free and wild with a lusty heart.
There is a temple around me and within me.
It calls me home to my desire. If I slow down, I can feel it all. I can savor it all.
The scent of holy smudge filling the room as I move with my body. I trust her. I feel her. I surrender to her.
I allow her to guide me.
Through the prayer that rolls off of my lips as I run my hands up and down my thighs. Through the way that I close my eyes and sink deeper into who I am.
Through the shedding of layers and shattering of illusions.
