A Black Photograph

Imagelessness

I’m dreaming again,
an imageless dream,
a black photograph.

A stir in the darkness
pleases this moonchild,
this waterbaby.

My night is clear and light,
as bright to me as day,
calling to me.

Darkness toys with my spirit,
a sensual game,
my distraction.

My dream, being taken,
loved by the night,
my day, my moon.

I swim in the pool of life,
dreams obsessed with lust,
my desire.

Darkness yearns to include me,
to please me, to love me,
to make three.

Sleep calls me,
come out to play,
so I must go.

My nightdress is lonely
on its hook tonight.
I’m in the mood.

No Turning Back

Image

 

Setha’s destiny lay in Monchellis. The three month trek on horseback from Abereth had proven difficult. The natural blue pallor of her skin hid a close brush with frostbite. Spring had taken hold, bringing daily storms and a treacherous channel crossing, but that wasn’t what she feared. Her delicate gossamer wings would mark her amongst the Averoigna, a ruddy race with feathered wings better-suited to flight in the tropical climate. Her own couldn’t withstand high winds or long distances.

Absently clutching the silver dagger holstered between her breasts, she patted Tona’s flank for the last time. A gilded mare, Tona would return to her rightful owner, but that wouldn’t lift the price from Setha’s head, certain death if she returned home.

“I have waited long for this day,” spoke a voice from behind.

It seemed Monchellis had come to her. “My liege,” she replied, kneeling before him. Gazing up at him, her heart skipped a beat. Unlike most of his people, his face was pure and boyish, his muscled chest untouched by manual labour. Lazy red curls disappeared beside the golden sword between his wings. This god could easily have flown the channel.

“Stand, child,” he said, gesturing her closer. “You are a beauty. Your arrival was foretold. I have come to carry you across to Averoigne.”

Setha cursed the weakness of her race. She could marry Monchellis as her father intended, bringing peace to the Islands, a conciliation that came at a cost. Their marriage would subjugate the northern provinces. “I come in peace, my liege,” she whispered, stepping forward.

Monchellis stooped to kiss her forehead, “Submit to me, bride.” No sooner had the words passed his lips than he slumped to the ground before her, Setha’s poisoned dagger in his heart.

Disgust had reawakened her resolve.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (30. A Kick in the Pants)

PRINCESS of DISKS … again.

Christa sent me an email this morning and had a real go at me. She was upset that I was being so introverted and self-absorbed. She thinks that I should phone Janice, just to catch up. Don’t bring up that she stood me up, maybe hook up for a run – something I’ve done every day since we ran together. I couldn’t bring myself to do it today.

I’ve taken to playing my music very loudly when I’m home: performance volume. Does that mean I’m going dead … deaf? I’m off this week, so I’m just sitting at home practising, except for today. I went to see Evangeline to get felt up … knocked … um, touched up … my henna, that is. She’s very good at what she does, and agrees with Jem that I shouldn’t bother being integrated … initialized … initiated as a witch. She can tell I’m ditzy … different, and she can see the bite-marks in my soup … soap … err, soul.

I think she’s been talking to Marcel about me, too. Suburban St Louis isn’t exactly witch-ville, and he has his own coterie – not exactly a coven, but a group of mindless … um, like-minded friends. I could be one of them – if I could keep my fantasies out of his pants. It’s those bites from my soul that leave me wanting him, and knowing that while I was at the depths of my recession … depression … (Stop it!) … possession, that he had nearly given in to me.

I don’t know what his wife must wink … think about me. I don’t even know if she is a witch. Their house seemed quite ordinary, unlike the houses of most Wiccans I’ve slept with … err, met. Evangeline has planned a dinner party for next week, and most of the coterie, as well as Mrs deBussy. (I don’t even know her name!)

Aside from that, I’ve also been working on my latest story. Eirica is having quite a love-fest. I wonder how much of me is in that. She keeps saying she isn’t a lesbian, but she keeps having encounters with other co-eds. Having the object of her pretension … obsession tell her his fantasies in embarrassed detail is probably too much like me, except of course that they are definitely a man’s fantasies.

I’m going to format the next chapter and post it in the next few days. 

Your pulse is my destiny

close your eyes
if you open them, I stop
I’m the dominatrix today
but I don’t punish your body
I’d rather play with your head

check your pulse
it’s relaxed,
won’t stay that way

I’m behind you,
don’t you dare look around
can you smell my shampoo?
a hint of orange and honey
the only scent I wear

I’m your fantasy
not for the faint-hearted
or weak of body

I want you

I just got out of the shower
nothing on but drops of water
I’m close,
you can feel my heat on your back
hear my breath, my heart beating, fluttering

your pulse,
it’s thumping stronger in your head
racing, like mine

my lips caress the back of your neck
hands on your hips
maybe I’ll check your pockets
investigate thoroughly
coins, keys, and – ooh!

you breathe deeper
thump, thump, thump
I can feel it, too

I touch you

my breasts brush your back
dampen your shirt
hips against your bum
mmm, maybe I’ll loosen your belt,
your zip

fire burns in your veins
I am your Goddess,
your need

I would like to wear your trousers
pull them down, maybe later…
changed my mind,
a dominatrix’ prerogative
I’ve got better things to do first

I’ll check your pulse,
the one between your legs
if I can find it

I breath you in

must be here somewhere
at the top of your groin
both hands, I’ll find it
lose those pants,
and I won’t lose interest

your pulse, there
beats fiercely, needs my hips
the burning bush against your cheeks

one button, two
your shirt loosens, so I can explore
one nipple, two
my tongue wants them,
but I’m still lost behind you

Our hearts beat together
like pagan drums
two bodies, one

I need you

would you like a grape?
there, keep it between your teeth
but don’t bite
we don’t allow that
everything gentle

you pulse with life
at my hands, my touch,
want more of me

keep those eyes closed,
better to feel my tongue on your back
down to the tip of your spine
and back up
my wet fingers do the same in front

your heart leaps
as I find you, your heat
your soul

I long for you

the grape, still whole?
prove your worth
can you keep it that way
if I … you know …
please you?

Bubble, gurgle, boil, trouble?
breathing deep, like me
you are my finest violin

I sing the siren song
you crush your grape
drip its nectar
I taste
sweet

I am your vessel

heaving with you
pressed firm
holding you tight
you are my grape
and I am ready to bite

I need your pulse
your fantasy, your desire
throbbing with life

You drip down my skin,
my body’s sweaty sheen
I lick, taste, consume
You are my food, my sustenance,
your pulse is my destiny

I’m your fantasy
not for the faint-hearted
or weak of body

take me