It's a new day.
The insecurities are past me... but I'm waiting for the moment when they'll surface again.
I'm harping on something that I have no control over... if it is to happen.
I love the night.
Cold, balmy, moonlit nights.
When the breeze is the caress and the moon is the candle.
The trees are the shadows and the sky is the blanket.
When I am the Goddess and the hands upon me are the ones of the worshipper.
Whoever he might be.
It's nights like these that make me dwell and writhe.
And though I have no answers to the monogamous lust, I answer it's call in it's entirety. I command the whip and sow the thirst.
I moan for more and I'm begged to give.
And the irony of such instances?
I am the only one alone in the radius of the that land. Not a soul with me... but the one (s) from my imagination.
And that is my power: I have who I want, when I want and not a guilty thought to dwell on.
Some nights I wonder what it would be like to be made love to in my sleep. That has a completely different dimension.
When the sensations that are reality seem dream-like for the fact that I am asleep.
When the pleasure is mixed with a feeling of disorientation and the man in me has no face.
I can keep wondering and lusting after such fantasies.. Whether they are consumed by reality one day is something to look forward to.
Till then I will shift the shape of my lovers and mourn the death of the past.
--Nights of melancholy and days of mist
My mind of imagination is held in thy powerful fist.
When the morning light sets and the night breeze lingers
I shall kiss thy head and undo thy fingers.
Thou shall fade into the hazy past
While I shine and prance with my glowing mask.
Hold my hand, my lover, my friend
Let me grip thy thoughts and help you fend.