Original Quilt Art by The Spirit of the Goddess Minerva
Sometimes hyperbole tells the tale best of all. I sincerely hope to get some feedback on this one. thanks!
– When Hyperbole and Life Intersect
Overwhelmed by a single thought
Triggered by sweet words read on some site I don’t recall
A punch to my chest
A shawl knit of sorrow draped around my shoulders
A vacuum sucks the air from my lungs
This sudden longing for you
a craving sharp and fierce
If I can’t touch you how can I live
and navigate my days?
Never feel you? Never kiss you?
Never hold you in my arms?
The sands of regret
weigh me down and clog my breath
I am blinded to life’s beauty
We will never be together
And then there are the moments
when I think I’ll die from wanting you.
Much more than physical craving
I am blindsided.
Overtaken by this powerful storm
that smashes carefully constructed defenses,
set in place to ward off
inevitably disappointing outcomes.
Does this become at best an exercise
To stretch my imagination?
Conjuring up wordforms
that express my love and desire of you ?
Even that marks certain failure
For as deft as my pen may be
As varied as the words
There are none existing adequate for my purpose.
A thousand times or more I have closed my eyes
and felt your lips on mine
softly brushing, parting, tasting
A thousand times or more I have lifted my arms
to encircle and embrace your welcoming body
and thrilled to your gentle caresses
stroking, kneading, exploring, finding.
A thousand times or more I have taken you into my mouth
and made exquisite love to you
with lips and tongue –
sucking, tasting, savoring.
A thousand times or more I have opened to your
hard and forceful thrust
bordering on ecstasy with each movement
striving, surrendering, flying.
Wanting every inch of you
Dying to ride you into oblivion
to feel you fill me completely
while we soar to heights unimagined.
(c) 2014 The Spirit of the Goddess
The battlefield exists in my head.
The combatants are regrouping,
re-arming for their next attack.
The home team takes comfort in what they can see;
the logical progression of familiar scenes
narrated in crisp tones with familiar dialogue
while the visitors nod with knowing smirks
And behind the scenes a chorus of naiads
suggest other worlds in their songs
If you choose to listen to this seductive siren
Be prepared for swift ascent to a world of ephemeral ecstasy
and a precipitous plunge to despair,
so my Head coach cautions.
The sirens sing not only for you
They sing for whoever is fool enough to listen to their melodies
And often their sweet harmony will take you down unintended paths
Betraying your trust for their own gratification.
The battlefield languishes
The combatants bide their time
When hope is at its highest,
when I start to utter victorious words,
they will once again take their places
brandish their cruel weapons
camouflaged in beguiling images
destroying certainty, confounding rational thought.