The Call

I stand on the edge
Of the earth,
Regarding the roiling blue
Below me;

Each hooked wave sinks
Into my chest, and
Tugs gently, whispering,
“Come home.”

The wind dances in
My open palm,
Fluttering –
An elated heartbeat –

And my toes twitch
In response,
Into familiar steps.

She calls me as surely
As the moon calls to her,
Blood surging in my veins
As tides across the sea floor

And I swell,
As the moon,
With yearning.

These New Jeans

Size is such a funny concept. I haven’t focused on my weight as a number of importance in a long time, but clothing size isn’t something that can really be avoided – even if you make your own clothes, chances are you’re using a pattern and even those patterns have size guidelines. For better or for worse, my size has become part of my identity. I like to think it’s for better; I haven’t had a problem with my size in quite some time. In fact, one could say it’s become a point of pride, being a larger—yes, FAT—curvy woman with breasts, belly, hips and an ass that can’t be overlooked. But when that changes? The size, I mean. (Gods know the curves are still present.) It’s an odd thing to wrap my head around, now that the discovery has been made that My Number is not what it was for years—what I’ve been comfortable with for years.

Certainly I’m comfortable with these new jeans fitting better than my jeans have fit in a while. I’m really alright with not constantly hitching them up, and definitely celebrating the lack of saggy pant-seats! I’ll be frank with you, though: this new size that I bought last night is a size that I haven’t bought since high school. And I know that’s kind of the coveted “thing,” to fit into one’s old high school jeans, but for those of us not obsessed with being our younger, supposedly smaller selves, for those of us who are comfortable with our current size, it’s just strange. For me, it hearkens back to a time when I wasn’t as comfortable with myself, when I did dread going up any size at all. It hearkens back to a time when there was more self-loathing present in my life than self-love.

That’s where it changes, folks. I may be back in my old high school size, but I will not be slipping back into my old high school mentality along with these new jeans. These jeans will be worn with self-love, self-acceptance and self-confidence. I will continue to strut and sashay my way down the street, not revert back to scuttling along with my shoulders hunched, trying to shield myself from the prying eyes of unforgiving peers. I have come a long way since those days, and I intend to hold on to that growth, regardless of how my body shrinks—or expands, for that matter. Because expansion may very well happen again, and that’s okay. The most important discovery I have yet made—infinitely more important than the superficial discovery of a changed pants size—is that true comfort happens when we grow and/or continue to love ourselves, accept ourselves and treat ourselves well (which, by the way, includes indulging every so often) despite any changes that may occur. Our bodies are constantly in flux, but our love for ourselves and our desire to take care of these bodies we inhabit should never diminish. When we can acknowledge that we are beautiful and worthy creatures despite sizes, shapes or any other external factors, that becomes the most comfortable fit of all, and everything else is just the denim-clad cherry on the sundae.

Mmmm… ice cream.


The glory rips raw from her throat and echoes into the night, mingling with the predators’ victorious cries and the dying screams of the hunted. Each arrow of pain penetrates deep, from skin to soul in the space of one adrenaline-crazed heartbeat, and her sorrow seeps out like quicksilver from the punctures, disappearing into the bed of fragrantly decaying flora beneath her bare feet. Every gasp, every sobbing breath sees her growing lighter, light as the air that strokes her heated skin, even as her spread feet settle into the ground, putting down roots and drinking deep of the earth.

In a moment of silence and stillness, her eyes fly open and lock onto the eyes of the One before her. Hidden deep within her, the smallest door in the darkest corner unlatches, swinging slowly, tentatively open. A warm, golden light spills out, illuminating her from within. It shines from her eyes, glows on every inch of exposed flesh, reaches out like caressing fingers into the space between them, receiving an answering smile from the One who holds the key.

The inky-black, pungent wilderness surrounding them has become their fortress. Safe within, they open to each other, their spirits twining sinuously together, rising like a triumphant flag above the walls of their retreat. Each strike delivered, each stroke gifted serves as the mortar binding together the stones of the tower erecting beneath where they stand until they are lifted above limitation and into the total freedom of the night sky. Thus liberated, as one, they tilt their heads back to the stars and release their intention to the Dark Goddess watching over them, looking on as it spirals up and away into Her grasp.

Released, satiated, they drift, weightless as autumn leaves, back to the earth below, grounding in each other’s arms. Her trembling knees give way and she sinks to the moss-patched floor of the forest, cheek and palms pressed into the damp, emerald velvet. The familiar weight and spirit of the One settles beside her and she is ensconced, cradled, safe. She is Home.

Snake Charmer

​Softly the blade hisses,
Serpentine steel fangs​
Gliding over peach-ripe skin,
Sinking in – claiming –
Injecting not venom but

Freed, freed is she from
The prison of her conscious mind,
Released to rise above
And dance, spirit to spirit,
With the Snakecharmer.

Eyes locked, they move –
Whirling together as Dervishes
In ecstasy –
Sinuously intertwining with the haunting echoes
Drawn forth by the blade arched as a bow
Over heartstrings,

Her quickened pulse pounding
Fervent beats against ribbed drumskin
While fluttering fingers key crescendos
Into the air around their bodies.

Once, twice and again flicks the blade –
A conductor’s baton shaping a symphony
Of flesh, blood and breath,
Each measure scored into limb
And sung into life on gasping cries
Before the last note fades into resounding silence.

Safely In Danger

To feel both safe and endangered:
Laid upon the altar of an anvil,
Watching the hammer of her hurtling down –

Or stretched, flesh bared, atop the embers
That snap, crackling, from her eyes, each spark
A love bite branded into skin –

Or frozen in place, pinned by the crosshairs
Of her sharpshooter words, each syllable
A shot fired: bulls-eye.

To feel enfolded by the arms, cradled by the hands
Even while their clawed apices grip me by body and soul;
To shudder at the caress of warm breath against neck
Even while being seared from tip to tail by the flame of her:

Swept up, I have been, into this cyclone,
Surfing its winds like waves and laughing at the vertigo,
Knowing I will not fall for I have already fallen,
And each petechial medal proclaims me not only survivor
But victor.

Whisked into the storm, yes, I have been,
But as it whirls ever stronger and faster around the eye of her
I am carried away not by a current of fear but a tide of joy and,
Closing my eyes, I give myself to it, let it wash over me,
And drown.

Onward We March

I expected to find a great many things in the act of submission. Liberation, connection, growth both personally and between us. I also knew that in submitting, I was not giving up any of my own personal power. Control? Yes. But not to the state of powerlessness. I never expected, though, to find so much empowerment in the act of submission. I never expected to be moved to the brink of tears by the simple act of being brought to my knees at her feet. I never expected the uncertainty to completely dissolve and be replaced in its entirety by joy and an all-encompassing feeling of being centered both within myself and in the Universe.

For someone who, for the longest time, was unsure if she even had the ability to submit, there sure is a very strong sense of belonging. Like this is where I should always have been. But only with her. This vulnerability, the character and depth of the connection.. I couldn’t imagine it being with anyone else. This is rare, and precious.

I think I had deliberately put the thought of kneeling out of my mind, after the coast. There had been a feeling inside me all along that there would be a finality to that act, and perhaps the time was not yet right for it – for that threshold to be irrevocably crossed, even if the gesture was welcomed. After all, more talks are to happen, soon enough, but time is still being given to honor the sheer enormity of these developments and the adjustments they require. I didn’t want thoughts of it to overtake me before it was time.

The opening of a new year, though, is a time for new beginnings and new journeys. This particular threshold has been crossed now, and as I had suspected, there is no going back from it even if I wanted to – but, I don’t. This belonging is a powerful creature. The path extending from this side of the threshold is long, winding up and out of sight beyond the horizon, and it is full of exciting mysteries – mysteries I’m eager to explore. I will walk – not run – with care and measure, but I will walk nonetheless, at her side. There is no direction in this adventure but forward. And so onward we march. Beyond fear, in love, joy and not a little curiosity. Onward we march. It is begun. And there is no end in sight.

To Be A Wave

​To be a wave
Across the belly of the sea​ ​-

Reckless, wild, jubilant,
Tasting freedom in the salt spray adorned –
A crown –
Upon the crest of her.

To be the rock
​Into which she crashes,
Her joy spilling over the edges,
Every crevice;

And the sand below,
With gems from the deep,
Patiently waiting to be
Swept back home

As she retreats,
To dance again.


It’s terrifying sometimes, being seen – truly seen. In those moments I want to shrink back, slam the door and retreat into the gloom, where this vulnerability is reduced to memory and potential only. For so long I have carried the habit of holding others at arms’ length, making sure no one ever got too close – close enough to hurt. It was lonely, yes, but it was safe. I was safe.

I am revealed now; all of my pieces and parts have been seen and can be seen again on a whim, smeared on a slide and placed under the lens of a microscope for careful examination. The kicker is that I’m still safe, really, under her gaze. She does not mishandle my revelation. Every new facet of me turned under her loupe, she cherishes. But it is just that: new, uncharted territory, the new frontier of my being, and I cannot know for sure just what that territory holds within its undiscovered boundaries. To give myself over to an unknown–it’s reckless and joyful and maddening, but at times I am sucker punched by a fistful of fear, wondering if I have gone too far, revealed too much. Questioning myself: why can’t I just stand alone as I have always done? Why do I give myself over for another’s study, or approval? Why do I feel compelled, why do I FOLLOW the compulsion to show her everything? Why not retain a little mystery?

Therein lies the true mystery, or perhaps the solution: my thought processes need to be switched from thinking that the mystery is diminished with each new bit of me that I reveal. Each of us, we are beautiful mysteries gift-wrapped in human skin, but even more so than that, we are masterpieces of fractal art: mystery built upon mystery, sinking down further and further until the naked eye, the loupe, even the microscope can no longer discern the separate puzzle pieces. They can only marvel at the sheer beauty of the universe they have discovered – ever expanding, ever building upon itself in an endless, infinite scroll of glorious human nature.

To that end, I let go of my fear. I let go of the death grip I have on my own self, and I give myself over unto revelation. I peel back my protective layers and let the underlying surface of my mysteries shine through, beckoning her in to look further, to discover more, to dig and sift – gently, please! – until the universe of my spirit lies before her, and she is awed by it. I am not diminished by this openness any more so than a galaxy, a nebula, a newborn star is diminished by being captured in the lens of the Hubble. I AM a revelation, and my mysteries delve deeper than any mind can fully comprehend. Such artistry as this should be shared, not locked away in a vault whose walls are built of fear. The most satisfying developments in our lives are often the most terrifying at first, but I will steel myself and take that leap – I will leap into my stars, touch them, dance among them, and let them shine.

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