Farewell to a thousand things

Window Reflection by HunterChanel

Life is short. Grasp what you can get.
A moment passed is past, like sand through your fingers.
For every missed chance, a fleeting moment, regret lingers.

Memories of what we had stay with us,
Taunting with might-have-beens, alternate futures,
What doctors can’t fix with a million sutures.

Forever chasing moonbeams
And all the little things you are.
Farewell to a thousand things.

Drifting through life on an endless conveyor,
Nameless people in distant places, now lost.
Time spent naming friendly faces, at what cost.

Forever dreaming visions
Of all the little things you are.
Farewell to a thousand things.

Time unending, now unbending,
Facing east, ever forward.
Can’t look back.

Forever losing details
Of all the little things you were.
Farewell to those thousand things.

Time unending, now unbending,
Facing east, ever forward.
Don’t look back.


More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (33. Evol Deklaw ni)

That’s In Walked Love, backwards. There’s a jazz tune by that name. Our big band at Uni played it.

TWO of CUPS (inverted). Love. Harmony of male and female in the largest sense and all that goes with it, pleasure, warmth, etc. Inverted, it could mean folly, dissipation or waste.

Or it could mean the loss of love. Allen asked for the ring back. I can understand why. I haven’t worn it since my epiphany … um, episode. I still love him, I think, but I can’t reconcile what I’ve done … sleeping with Max, then allowing myself to be possessed.

The worst part of it all is blabbing … blogging all about it. That alienated Allen, and was generally unforgivable. I don’t blame him. Maybe it is time to pull the plug. I know you wank … want to heal … hear all about my infatuation with Marcel and my time as the High Priestess of the coterie. Maybe you want me to give in to my bisexual fantasies and shake up … shack up with Evie or go back to London and Christa. She’s too young for me, and I wouldn’t want the responsibility of healing … helping to rear her daughter.

Frankly, what happens in the coterie is probably secret, and I need to heal … hence the reason I keep typing that word when I mean to type something else. Yes, my soul needs time to heal, and adding my verbal diarrhoea to the Internet probably isn’t helping matters.

So that means I’m going to cool it for a while. I’ll pop back when I feel strong enough. Eirica is almost finished. She’s won her man (as much as she wanted to), and all that is left is a short epilogue, which I’ll post in a few days. I don’t know what I’ll do with that blog afterwards. Maybe start a new story … a story of healing … a story of becoming Scottish … a magical story of ghosts, castles … of healing. Who knows where I’ll take it. Anyway …

The bite-marks still hurt.

A Golden Sea

On the street where I live
Sat a beggar with a lisp
Said he knew my soul
Would make it whole.

On the stoop by my home
Came the urge to roam
My heart, split in two,
he struck me through.

Forever broken, my search for peace
Forever broken, give me release
Forever broken, I’ve got to go
Forever broken, where I don’t know.

In the light it was clear,
A voice I wanted to hear,
His voice pleading in the night,
My love touching, without sight.

Forever broken, my search for peace
Forever broken, give me release
Forever broken, I’ve got to go
Forever broken, where I don’t know.

In the sun there is a road to him
In the sun, pure delight,
Fire free, a golden sea, a golden sea.

Forever broken, my search for peace
Forever broken, give me release
Forever broken, I’ve got to go
Forever broken, where I don’t know.

On the dusty road I traveled,
The rest of me unraveled.
Soul naked from the start
To mend my aching, broken heart.

In the sun there is a road to him
In the sun, pure delight,
Fire free, a golden sea, a golden sea.

Survival Instinct

No, this won’t go in the Annethology, but it’s one of my favorites, written on the eve of my birthday, which is not tomorrow, but in June – in the heat of the summer … well, a few days before the official start of summer. June is my favorite month – not too hot or cold, just right. (That’s me Goldilocks … err, Burgundilocks? I can make them golden if you want.) Too bad it’s February. Hold on!



Breathe. Yes, now. Keep breathing.

When the mirror crystallized back into view, I found myself back in my familiar body, albeit flushed and sweaty, but still panting.

I couldn’t stop panting.

A drop from my chin splashed between my breasts. Was that sweat, or had I been drooling?

I rolled off my calves, which stung as blood returned to them. Pain, sweet agony! Sweet bliss!


The tips of burgundy hair around my ears dripped with sweat. I must have been at it a long time. I couldn’t read the clock reversed in the mirror, but I was too exhausted to turn my head, too tired to wash my slimy right hand, too depressed to blow out the candles, even though there were only four of them, one for each point of the compass.

I was alone in my circle, still struggling for breath after making love with my reflection.

How long had I held my breath? It’s something I do when I get close, and when I get close to getting close, and maybe even getting close to getting close to getting close to a false alarm. A minute, two? Then relax and try again. Gulp some air. Go for it. Gulp and try again. How long? How many times?

Dizziness usually accompanies the bliss, and I can’t reach that height with a man. They have no stamina. Probably not with a woman either, but I wouldn’t know. If they’re like me, they wouldn’t have the patience. How long?

Deep breath now.

I wiped my hand on my chest and spun my legs around in front of me. I wished there was more and that it didn’t dry so quickly. Corn oil never quite did it for me. I can feel them again, every inch, and the intensity of sensation matches the pain. Every muscle aches with exquisite agony – both of me, but my reflection is left-handed.

Wipe that grin off your face.

I couldn’t help it. I used to do it all the time, but I’ve limited myself to once a month in a circle at the time of the full moon. Only the Goddess could watch me then. Abstain and then do it right for the most intense pleasure. Take an hour or two. Lick your fingers. Well, I don’t always do that, but sometimes I dribble saliva down the front of me and pretend it’s his … yes … his … mmm.

Pepper. That’s the smell of my sweat, but not like after a run. Athletic sweat smell is more like ammonia. Post-coital sweat is peppery, like a pepper sauce on a lean sirloin.

I’ve stopped thinking of him on nights such as tonight. It happened too quickly. Besides, why should I waste my passion on such a loser? Now I take my time and think of my own pleasure. That’s where the mirror comes in. I keep myself to myself. Yes, that’s selfish, but I’ve been by myself for long enough. Why not share? Share myself with myself.

At the height of oxygen deprivation, it is almost as if I inhabit both my body and my left-handed reflection. My instincts will take over if I go too far.


I occasionally pass out, but not tonight. That’s a survival mechanism, automatic to my body, almost as necessary as what I’m doing for my soul on this night.


I couldn’t live without love, even if it was self-love. Yes, people love me, my family, my friends. I even have several admirers. They all seem to want to chat over the internet – I’m so virtually beautiful and so good in that invisible virtual bed. I do have real admirers, too. One, I think, even loves me.

I don’t think he would understand. I don’t think many would. It’s a sin in their Christian world. In my Catholic world? I don’t know what I believe any more. The Pope and I don’t see eye to eye at this moment in time, and the last one wasn’t any better. Dare I wait for another to come around to my way of thinking?

Instinct. That is why I have to do it.

I’ve stopped smiling. It’s because I’ve started to think of the outside world. That’s so depressing and why I drew this circle around me. I’m here in the world of my own making, performing an act of love, sitting in my own fluids, on my floor of my spare bedroom in the house that I own.

I’d start over … but that’s not allowed. I’ll pencil my next date into the calendar in my head.

There’s the smile, cheeky girl … cheeky girl with the long thin legs and tiny breasts. He always wished my eyes were blue, but I’ll take the hazel I was given. They change with the light, my surroundings, my mood, and not unlike my hair, but that comes in a bottle. Gemini live for change. Hey, what day is it? Tuesday! Tomorrow’s my birthday. Thanks for the lovely present, Reflection.

Cake? No. I’ll have a lean sirloin with a pepper sauce. It will remind me of you, of tonight, and of the next full moon.


she had everything I wanted
most of all his notice
I saw him watching
like he used to watch me
when I was her age

perfect arse in her black Levis
full red lips with no make up
… that was my trick

one more button loose
showing off what I never had
his eyes followed them as she passed
and he doesn’t even go for breasts
or maybe just not my paltry pair

she sat tuning her viola
right in front of him
… I was occupied elsewhere

I remember when that was my seat
now, I couldn’t be further away
damn European orchestras
I’ll take an American band any day
just to be where I belong

he liked to watch my back
sultry nights in the pit
… when I went strapless

he was mine then
had his total attention
now he window shops
blond hair, blue eyes
twenty, could be his daughter

our daughter, if I’d had my way
look, but don’t touch
… touch me instead

I know he looks still
but not like that
damn drooling bugger
where did I go wrong?
we’re ancient history

ancient, yes, a passing fancy, she
too old for that babe, I remind him,
… not in so many words

she’s there now
but I still hold the cards
he knows where to find me
all I have to do is turn around
I wore my strapless tonight

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

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

It rained today

it rained today,
and I thought of you
I do everyday

lying in bed
watching the mosquitos
bouncing off the ceiling
thats me, unable to hold on,
hold you

the sun came out
and I thought of you
then the clouds returned

you are the light, my light
my centre of gravity
you follow me, following you
like a dog and its tail
silly, isn’t it

it was cold today
and I thought of your warmth
but you turned frosty

it was my fault that you left
there was no other way
if I let you in again
would you touch my desire,
or just stoke the flame?

it rained today
and I thought of you
never will I stop