Mine removed

Image

I knew he would come,
our place since the beginning of time,
our time.

This is our watery garden,
our Eden without that damned tree,
pure and untouched.

He knows not why he is drawn,
pure as the driven snow,
in his dream.

When he last visited,
it was my dream,
his beautiful flesh,
my paradigm.

My spirit sat on this log,
here since ancient times,
but he couldn’t see me then,
not like now.

He can’t help noticing a woman,
naked,
the most beautiful he has ever seen,
as we were created for each other.

Forever I wait for him in the mountain tarn,
fed by a waterfall, borne of a force,
an underground river
bursting from a cliff face.

This lake is our love,
still and pure,
with its source from a higher power.

I will always love him because
I remember.
Everything.

He forgets until he sees me,
wonders at his newfound love,
One that he understands not.

Natural, yet he is Earthbound.
I will teach him again,
but when he awakens,
he will marvel at his dream.

He’s had one like it before,
I know because I know his thoughts.
They are mine, removed.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (11. Not Finished Yet)

Unfortunately, Jem had to leave first thing in the morning. Today turned out to be one of those days. I was free from the spell – or at least so I thought – but something hung over me all day. I was late for rehearsal – somehow I thought I wasn’t needed at the start. I had also forgotten there was a concert tonight, so I had to whip myself … um, slip home for my concert dress. Of course, it was rush hour, slowing my journey, but not as much as being shopped … err, stopped by the police for crossing a solid white line. At least he was kind enough to let me off with a warning. I put on my most pristine English accent for him, but that only encouraged him to chat me up. In spite of the wedding band on his finger, he fancied me in a big way. He had my address from my drivers license, and somehow he was able to extract my phone number from me. He complimented me on my blouse, while staring right down my minuscule cleavage.

I made it home and back without time for sex … err, dinner, so I played big … um, the gig on an empty stomach. Stupidly, I agreed to go out for food afterwards – with probably the most lovely … (Huh?) … lecherous guy in the orchestra. (He was the only one that wanted to make out … err, go out after a weeknight concert. Like the cop, he stared at my breasts all evening. Why? There isn’t much to look at! That made me more than a little self-conscious. I was plagued by the worst Freudian slips throughout the meal, all sexual, and I could tell that it was turning him on a fig leaf … uh, in a big way. As it was getting late, he offered me a head … um, bed to spend the night on – presumably under him.

I dyed my hair … err, lied about having to give a blow job … uh, a lesson in the morning. (I’m not doing that yet here.) Then I was stopped on the way home by the same policeman whose shift conveniently ended at midnight. He manufactured an excuse to slap … pop … poke … stop me – a vehicle check – and to have me out of the car. There was nothing wrong (hell, the car was only 8 months old!), but he really took his time and did his best to stand as close to me as possible, brushing into me several times, and undressing me … (NO!) … discussing the results in the back seat of his cruiser.

“You should be careful on the way home,” he said, finishing. “You’ll be passing through a dangerous part of town. Would you like an escort? I’m at the end of my shift anyway.”

I said that I would be his love slave … um, careful, but I didn’t need his help. That didn’t stop him from following me home. At least, he didn’t cum … come to the door.

Fortunately, the few seconds in the pool last night didn’t damage my cards too much, so I drew today’s:

QUEEN of WANDS (inverted). The water part of fire … (the hair on my forearms stood up immediately) … Adaptable, persistent authority, and with a great power to attract. Can be revengeful.

Shit! There was still a ghost haunting my house, a powerful one. I dreaded turning my computer on.

I somehow waded through an email from Max about how he wouldn’t hold last night against me, and that he would come on alone tonight and do whatever I wanted of him … anything. He wanted me, he loved me, he desired me, and hadn’t realised how much until last night. He adored me – my body. I was the goddess he worshipped … etc.

Too much of what I never wanted, and it was too late. I was freed from his spell.

That, however, wasn’t what frightened me. My spam filter must have gone down, since I received about 200 emails – all sex spam, but not the usual male enhancement drivel. These all looked like real mail – men all purportedly wanting me. They started harmlessly, but inevitable turned towards revealing sex talk. Strangely, the focus of their desire was my breasts. (Not again!)

After trashing them all, I opened my blog. I received over 1000 comments to last night’s post. Some were Mormons saying that I misrepresented them, but most were fans expressing their desire for me (my body actually). I’ve deleted all but the lucky ones … legitimate ones now, but I apologize that I can’t have sex with all of you … um, to anyone who might have read the others first.

Obviously, there is still something thong … um, long … dingdong … dripping down my naked breasts … (slam … damn, I can’t seem to delete that) … I … love it … come with me … now … I need you …

*pause*

I don’t know what happened there. I ran a virus check, and my laptop was clean, unlike what I’m typing … oh damn … Max just pinged my Skype … I need to … touch … (no!) … myself …

I can’t erase any of it, and the only button that seems to work on my browser is SUBMIT.

Something definitely long … thong … dingdong … dripping …

Must go …

The Rite of Spring

The nightingale calls,
wakes the chosen,
bride of the harvest god
in her first spring of womanhood

The flutes sings,
she drinks the draught.
The other girls, jealous of her fortune,
preen her, prepare her for her nuptials.

The pyre lit,
the women paint her, robe her.
The potion burns,
fuels her desire.

beat

The drum sounds a slow pulse,
a low growl, a heartbeat,
the dance begins.

She makes her first choice,
dispatches her robe, circles him, touches him
He reaches out to her.
With her hand, she slaps him,
for no mortal man may know her.

beat, beat, beat

The drum throbs ever quicker,
entrances the circle,
emboldens the men.

A second succumbs to her lewd entreaty.
She strokes his brow, tastes his flesh.
He takes her hand.
With a switch, she flogs him,
for no man born of woman may touch her.

beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat

Its mesmeric thump surges on,
women push their beaus forward
to feast the chosen.

Her bawdy dance claims a third.
She burns his cloak, bites his chest.
He kisses her.
With a whip, she lashes him,
for no man who has suckled at his mother’s breasts may love her.

beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat

The tempo races,
men, women all under its spell
caught by the drug.

The fourth, a prisoner of her lascivious tease,
she takes his sword, licks his lance.
He embraces her.
With a blade, she smites him,
for no man who is not a god may possess her.

beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat

Touched by first light, she shrieks,
stalks the fire in blind rapture.
The Earth trembles in relentless oscillation.

The god of the harvest, her willing slave, there, in the flame.
Her womb awaits her hungry groom.
He will provide, the harvest will be her child.

The circle closes around her, the crowd aglow in carnal ecstasy.
The chosen plunges herself into the bosom of her lover,
surrenders herself for the health of her tribe.

They will eat well this year.