My body your canvas

Living words of ecstasy

Passion between souls

words errant satiety image courtesy of TattooTemple on deviantART

Forests knowing


The lush aliveness of forest knows me 
Reminiscent of the lover I still mourn
Whispering serenity, overtly intimate
I lose myself in solitude, accompanied 
By a myriad of sensory inputs
Virtuoso nature left to its rawness
Transcribing fractals of growth within
Without, immersion in wonder, breathing
Deep of verdant life, satiated by thirst
Found panting with want as cells
Regenerate and I carry the forests 
breath into the world I know


words by errant satiety image sourced from here

Sweet fruit

Take your false listener with her sharp poisoned tongue far from here, here where the dust of eons past falls, fruit blossoms passing from trees on sweet winter breeze. Here, where the real not false is celebrated. Quiet your errant speech, hush your lies and half-truths, speak true or be exiled. Embrace the honesty of love. What is given to another is rightly due the self. Do you not see and seek beauty?  Speak softly to the tender self, whisper encouragement; do not defile the sweetness of spirit with harsh fictitious words. What truth can be found within this dishonesty? Look deeply into the self and seek a taste of eons past to propel future forward, not muddy interpretation that sinks self in wet quicksand, but winter blossoms fleeting moments past flush with promise of ripe sweet fruit.

Awakening - Cherry Blossom Sunrise

Musical offering: ‘Mr E’s Beautiful Blues’ Eels

Words by errant satiety and image borrowed from here


Some people are born in the wrong country, place, or time. They yearn for the intangible yet familiar. Fragment of dream, fleeting scent caught on an unusual breeze, a colour that doesn’t belong in the sunset, a glimpsed distant figure, a tone of a voice heard but never located. I was one such being. I wandered, seeking, lost to the self and the world. Bright eyed, aching, desperate and eager. Eventually, exhausted, I took pause, sought shelter and attempted to touch the souls of others. In the dark of winter I stumbled blindly into open arms. Intoxicated, soul savaged, heart found firmly beating. His lips found mine in the darkness and the rain fell. Petrichor inhaled, imbibed with the scent of him waking my screaming brain. His lips tasting mine innocent yet deeply he sucked my tongue and I fell. Wings beating we fell.

Time travelled. Locations changed. Lives played out. Glimpse of a figure shrouded in sunlight unaware of observing eyes, what I fled from, all that I desired so close yet irretrievable. Days passed tasting of fear, of regret. And the rain fell, the scent explosive. Theatre seduced me in the name of support opportunity arose. Holding heart in open hand I hid beneath the lowered lights. Soul lost in this privacy of darkness tears chimed my doom. Tentative connection, creation unfurled, his eyes on me through the darkness, as I dance; his whisper thunder in my veins as I attach my pink hair. Conversation kisses across my tortured skin. His eyes exhumed my soul, I was undone.

Unravelled, free falling we collided. Inert for too long, ravenous we feasted, ever left parched. Devoured yet longing, in stillness memory played across lips, breast and soul. I fell, he I thought immune. Broken I flailed wanting, willing, lost. Somnolent, redolent with desire I ambled between stolen moments. Drowning in the forbidden. Lusting what could not. Beating wings in the darkness, fire in my heart. Solace in his presence, pared down to essential quick, we coiled one another. Heart in hand I lost. Heart in hand I retreated. Yet there was ever-more.

Misplaced geography located. Too long kept apart, fiercely did we burn. Too fearful my hated heart. Poison on my knife I severed beating wings and plummet beneath my farce. Yearning, aching for what could not. Time travels impervious. Some people are born in the wrong country, space or time and spend their lives disrupted. Lifetimes within a life. Lifetimes imploding, expanding… relative, incomplete, remembered, lost yet lived.

‘Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home’ Matsuo Basho

For my silent one.