black ice, hot love

My puppy told me,
“I was only looking for a little patch of sunlight”

More and more we are making sense to each other and it hasn’t been easy. Potty training, feeding, giving Him one million kisses a day.
(I always put babies on the Love Train)

The truth is, I do my best inside of this dream machine, a snowy misconception doesn’t have to make us frigid. Just because we couldn’t understand the hotter eye, we poked and shoved without a taker and so and it didn’t turn out as we’d planned…

It seems that the humiliation and frustration of unsuccessful penetration can last for lifetimes. I think we need to figure out how to climb this tree (or at least leave our mark) The boy and the girl were told all the wrong things- and so, lifting their eyes toward the wrong heaven, they got lost and their needs went unmet. He knew She was hiding and She knew He was looking
and so at least we have something to work with.
The fundamentals of Hide and Seek you could say…

The Erotic and The Quixotic.

The Twins of Me:
The Twine and The Root-
The Forgotten Tree.

knots in the tree stump
broken down hieroglyphics
preening beams of light
stilts too tall, a craft too large
order passing down the sun
reading faces, numbers scattered
black ice, hot love
a chirping bird flies by
deep in the cavity
holding the plot
time sits, shaking away the seconds
a scratching dog bleeds
my knife is as sharp as a razor

(My eyes are tied)

…having visions steeped in blood. My life is only getting shorter. Days we give and days we get. Tapping into one vein or another. Weaning myself from the throb of your flowing, the urgency goes limp when ignored. It doesn’t have to be that we are pensive and bothered. When Her face turns to glass and Her eyes show you that other room inside of you, don’t jump out of bed just yet.

Because you know -I think it’s you. You know the answer is coming.

She whispers in your ear like a needle pulling thread “get up or get out, big boy” and you know that She means you. Girls aren’t sorry for being girls but you better pull your pants up.

It’s only a Game. Remember?

The mule wading through the blood that He spoke of is just me and you getting to know each other. And it’s an intimate affair, and I told her just the other day, “it’s about sexuality” but I know she isn’t listening because it’s a stump, an old dirty dog sniffing in places inappropriate but isn’t it true? Maybe He smells something that you don’t? When the dog jumps up and shoves his head between Her legs, she smiles and pretends she doesn’t notice- meanwhile we’re pulling on his leash pretending nothing’s there. But He knows doesn’t He?

Every time She goes down
She always comes up cleaner
If She doesn’t forget to swallow
and satisfy Her redeemer

Do you get it? The Dog has fangs that we just might be attracted to. Dirty, sharp teeth- and sometimes I think I should change His name
To DICK. He seems to be this furry vessel only here to carry out the will of the Dick. The Big Dick. The Dick who is All Knowing. Whose nose smells what’s going on with you, that’s for sure. The nose knows. I’ve got three male Dogs who worship me and consider me The Chihuahua Queen. I take them to The Tree daily.

It’s always a mess of jealousy and rivalry around here. I guess I made it this way on purpose. I love friction. The best part is, that we can be honest with each other. We can be ourselves. Of course I’m the Master, but that’s another story (if you haven’t read it yet) our communication is flawless and instinctive. I know what they want or what I’ve forgotten merely when our eyes meet from across the room. And they know that they’re the One and they know that I’m The Magic that has beef, holes and blankets.

It’s simple and true. My love is just a hologram of you. Invested. Infested. Infatuated. Wouldn’t it be so easy just to let me put your collar on and take you for a walk? Every one has a different name for me, and I know what they say, but I’m not imagining. One calls me Lady. One calls me Mommy. One calls me Anabelle. (Anabelle was his first love, it’s ok with me) It’s up to them who I become. It’s also up to you.

It’s a hologram.
It’s a dream machine of lust and noise.

Can you hear me over the engines? I’m threading myself through everyone I see. I’m calling myself through everyone who hears. I’m loving myself through everyone who smells the Odor of the Lord.

You’re going to need to get down beneath me and pray.

You know, I write these stories about Her but she isn’t listening and she just doesn’t get it.
He has one agenda. He sees only one thing.
You, naked and alone. You, vulnerable and hard up. You, wanting only what He can give. Because He seems to be the only one who really knows what you’ve been up to. What you’ve been secretly thinking of…dirty fantasies and cloaked
fetishes- stewing, brewing- fucking all around you. You didn’t even notice me did you?

I write these stories about Her. For Her. For you.
Inside of me. I’m saying, “”let’s get out and do something about this. Lets make the biggest mess you’ve ever seen. Let’s lay down and do it all over again. I’m not worried. I’m their master and I’ll always be on top. It’s not like being on the bottom changes anything either. We’ve all got our roles to fill. We’ve all got our secret desires.
Don’t write to me and pretend you’re not a sniffer too. It’s Dick or it’s something else a little deeper- but the air is fragrant and They told me all about it. I understand and They’ve got a point.

Get in or Get out.

But just don’t be a willing and limp participant because that works for no one-if you know what I mean.
And She rides the horny mule through blood and She carries a bag made of human flesh and inside the bag is every disease She’s taken from those who love Her well. But don’t get Her pissed is all I can say. And He is with Her with a voice like thunder crashing. He is Huge and Erect and a Killer of Killers. The Song plays when They Ride. The Song plays between them coming back again to me and you.

Yes, I know She’s timid, like a little mouse. I told her to stop being pathetic. She’s pretending to be a nun I think. A martyr for no cause at all. Plus my Dog seems to think She’s hiding something pretty great beneath that little schoolgirl skirt She wears….

Do you understand anything I’m saying?

My mother thinks I’m a pervert. That’s so funny to me that I can’t even laugh about it. I’m frozen in ecstasy at the thought of me leaking fluids that drive away monsters and words that drive away mommies. I’m only telling the truth and it was Her choice to do it to Him. I’m merely reminding
Them of the interlude. Why do I always get blamed for everyone’s sexual dilemmas? I’m a magnet for these things. I’ll pull them out of you against both of our wills. The erotic and quixotic seem to go hand it hand….or should I say hoof in paw?
Riding the mule. Stained red and wild with freedom. I’m free not to be hidden. I’m free to
be open. Legs spread wide to let in the Light of His Love. His Love which is scary. His Light which is Dark.

(I call it His Psychotic Foothold)

It’s a new life beautiful girl. Everyone was wrong about both of you. There is more than enough to go around. He can go all night and day. You can’t hide your animals from me.

Which brings me to another point-sometimes I think He’s afraid of Himself because
I’ve seen the saddest things. I’ve watched the boy throwing rocks
at birds. I’ve seen him killing little parts of me.
I came to tell his mother, but he never really had one. No Lady. No Annabelle. Only a glass face casting confused and hungry glances at His growing manhood. His father was an angry penis (which isn’t implying He can always get it up either) (once again blood and the beast) Mommy was just another fix (that’s what his father said anyway)

The horny mule. The painted concubine. The rabid dog. The baby bird I couldn’t save. We ride them, but they aren’t us.

Pretend my dear that you do not hear.
Hear me knocking at your door. I’ve come to take your boy away. I’m knocking (but I’ve also got the key)

I heard him calling me
the boy from the white sky
his butterfly, the snag
ripping her wings
silver fell from watered clouds
into the chalice moon below
perfumed love songs
from the flowered girl
dancing in the sound
of his voice
rising from the
light of earth’s
swelling womb
for just a moment
between them
the pangs

What am I supposed to feed Him?

A little bird fell the other day. The nest high above built in a little crack in the roof. The other baby birds were all still safely in the nest crying for food. He was a very little and fluffy baby bird all puffed up and afraid- pushing himself into the corner of the building just to feel closer to home.
But She wasn’t coming to save Him and it wasn’t His home anymore-plus we really don’t know how he fell. She might have pushed him out of the nest expecting him to fly…to figure it out on His own.

It was Do or Die for this little guy.

I’ve tried saving fallen baby birds enough times to know that a dish towel in a bottom of a cardboard box only makes him weaker -and He never flies. He just dies. Harsh reality doesn’t give second chances. I couldn’t save him. I could only help Him die. So I just left Him there huddled in the corner….feathers and tears all over again.

Sometimes it seems like God is never Home.

I kept my heart
Blued obscured
The cloudless valley
I have become
The moon that turns
The wind into
The coreless place
Not a seam
Not a wither
No timber, branches
Reaching either
This is the rain
That never fell
This is the light
That wanders
The crier burns
The night like weeds
Smoky eyed and certain
Of the love
That never breaks
Upon these shores
Of ruin

It’s so lonely…but I still believe in you.

rings at noon
Light hanging dim
another passing over
holy water salty songs
and the wind blew
through her tangled hair
sandy light and spitting dew
with a pitchfork in her hand
her island, taking traces
where the widows moaned
and scraped the filmy shores
back and forth she skimmed
back and forth she waited
wading in the shallow time
rings hung and light shaded
over the places we all wept
her island, singing sadness..
as the keeper of the seaside grave

(high in the sky. The simple treaty)

Let’s be alive. Let’s Love the Mess.
(I don’t really have another remedy)

I’ve been wandering and destroying and creating you for so long. This pact I made had many stipulations, some of which I broke and some of which I improved. My mission was to find you.
I’ve beaten and tortured myself. I’ve mutilated my body one too many times…trying to suffocate the demons I almost drown. This is a serious game I’m playing. Full of fun houses and torture chambers We’ve been drawn together like two opposite ends of a spectrum, like pennies to a magnet.

The glory is ours.

We may not amount to much, but we do matter- at the tip of Her sword our blood is the scent that draws the demon. Our semen is the fluid that binds the loss in ecstasy and forgiveness. I’m not making this up.

We came to save the world.

And our Sex Fire and Brimstone will destroy this illusion.

They made you ashamed in order to bind you to Adam. Adam was not a Man. He was a clone. A mistake made in a false heaven. They are lying to you. You aren’t bad at all and your flesh isn’t in some sort of eternal stalemate with your soul so that you must chop yourself apart at the waist in order to be whole. Isn’t that hysterical? I’m a pervert! That’s what mommy said…

But how will it play out? She’s knocking us over and we’re just these little kittens in a puppies’ world trying to find a meaningful way to serve and protect the Dick. Am I right? Yes. Oh, and also, women have Dicks too. Inverted Dicks ready to take you on. So don’t worry. No bitches looking for saviors anymore …PLUS my balls are much bigger than most men I meet….Yes it gets very hot and they get very bothered by me…but that’s really their showmanship that is lacking (or a little limp should I say) Not my problem at all. My Dick has gotten me everywhere I needed to be. And this isn’t a transgender testimony- This is a proclamation of THE BIG SEX- that rocks my house. It’s a big bed and we better get in and Do It -because They really are coming- and sooner than you think!

They expect a lot from us. We must become fluid
shimmering waves of heat and light. Because there’s really only one way to get laid (in the highest sense of the word) Pull back the covers and see what you’re stoking. It’s in there. It’s up there. It’s deep inside. He’s a holy man trapped in clothing, white lightening and buzzards.
I never made up stories or fantasized about our love. You know it’s true.

I’m often asked, why the change of heart? Because that’s what I do, I just change hearts.
Maybe for no other reason except that I want to make you notice me. I’m bored. Time is up. Like I said, I like friction. Hearts are like doorstops. We don’t always need to keep them there like they’re a part of the door when really they just keep it open. Opened or closed. Swinging back and forth. It’s the game of attraction. We should win Her Heart however many times She changes it.

I had a vision once that God was a huge cat and I was Her kitten. She was knocking me around and I kept falling over and then getting up coming back for more…
God’s only playing with Her children.

Can’t you see I just love you for fun?

From the old wooden mansion hidden in the dense green mountains -deep in the forest of marijuana trees we sit and wait for your arrival.

The Goddess is never lost. The Goddess is never silent. The Goddess never stops moving. The Goddess is always making you love Her.

Stiff as a Hot Rod
(nickname for one of my dogs)
He knows where to find Her.
She’s hiding in the trees disguised as the Shade.
When He penetrates the Dark in all directions
She screams Hallelujah!
and He bursts info flames.

This is what you need to do
over and over again…

Make me love you
dark eyes,

Sharada Devi

5 thoughts on “black ice, hot love”

  1. i could die if i knew you were near. you’re the new one who can see everything. your innocent sensual laughter haunts my day. the blood hue of your black eyes confirming what i knew you already could see. that empty homesick feeling the poison from staring too long. loving from the depths of the emptiness of my being. please remove the hex and stop hurting me or just kill me. twisting and thrusting and breathing and sucking the pulling and grinding entangled in dingy stained layers of innocent wet lust for her perfect pink tongue. the beast sees what you’re thinking.

  2. Living in the Holy Mother Light friction truth heart breaker heart expander there’s no other way … the rest is a lie.

  3. Love and the love lost is a boat filled with ecstasy on an ocean of fire on its way to a holocaust. Your love binds me and reminds me. Love the puppies love the babies. Heal the wounded and sick. Those who sleep will wake up to late so waste not this human life on games. Thank you for turning me off and loving me on. Thank you.

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