When Life Makes Love

The piercing serenade of crickets slides through one ear and out the other.

The high pitch is like dental floss passing through my brain, cleaning my thoughts.

The night is alive.

Mystery is afoot.

Drift wood, dry and decomposing, is washed up on the shore.

Dead things fester, before they can fertilize.

Flies feverishly feast.

Thunder roars through my bones, shaking my mortality to the core.

The rumble reaches me like the timbering voice of a man, or a God.

Steadfast and strong, it has the power to both provide and destroy.

I want to let it in. 

Come closer.

Penetrate me.

Blinding light slices through my dark dreams.

This precise incision shatters the storyboard of my life.

Light becomes my beacon.

Bluish grey clouds crouch in the twightlight sky.

They are all-seeing companions between light and dark.

The ocean over-turns, upheaves, hushes and soothes.

This great swelling body gives me solace.

It’s undying rhythm coaxes me towards my nature.

Breathe out. Release, release.

Breathe in. Renew, renew.

Life snakes it’s way into me.

A fierce nausea with jagged edges moves through my tender membranes.

I want it to stop.

I want to block it out.

I want to discard it with disgust.

Until I realize.

These are the parts of myself I’ve denied, disliked and disowned.

So instead, I say thank you.

Stay with me.

Let me know you better.

Heal me.

Euphoric calm spreads through my body, like a fountain taming a fire.

Pleasure dowses my heart.

Life makes love to me this way.

Again. And again.

Neither pain, nor pleasure is rushed.

Emerald green bursts through brown bark that once armored its vibrant beauty.

The old skin is too tight, too concealing, too limited.

I succumb to nature knowing me better than I know myself.

A crimson hibiscus flower lets her petals fold together, like a ballet dancer resting.

When the sun rises, she’ll be erect with perfection.

Awe cracks me open.

I want to delight this life in return.

Tell me, show me, chaperone me into loving you back.

Come, with your omnipotent prowess.

Make love to me again.

I need you.

Push yourself up against my pain.

Move me.

Dismantle my barricades.

Touch me.

Teach me your language of love.

Perform your mastery over my will.

I am yours.


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Unravel Me


Smear rhythm into my skin

Travel the awakening of my curves

Soak into sensual arpeggios

As the untold story of liberation penetrates silky smooth skin,

Exploring unknown territory

Melting into this abyss of sensation (more…)

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LookingForwardAranka_0495?  by Artist Aranka Israni

A broken heart is like a broken stick.  

Broken sticks lie on the ground lifeless.

Please, dear You.

Don’t linger on being friends with broken sticks.

Don’t make ornaments or trophies out of them.

Throw them to the ocean.

Let them compost.

Make kindling out of them.

Let them burn in a fire.

That fuels rich and prolific love.

If you still love the broken stick to pieces.  

Say good bye.

Crush and bury it with hard handed love.

Let it fertilize.

Don’t leak your energy.

Don’t arrange broken sticks.

Don’t move them from place to place.

Un-friend vampires.  Delete emails.   Burn photos.  

Let the sentiment of your memories bleed.

Free your hope of wishing things were different.

Then massage, and till your soil madly, lovingly, passionately and devotedly.

Take a seat on the heated soil.

Alive with deliberate destruction.

And watch what comes to life.

© Krista Kujat

? Me by Artist Aranka Israni

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Pulse Beneath Your Skin


Stuffed and crammed

The desires fire up thoughts

The thoughts fire up action

The actions fire up doing

The doings fire up your soul

Or destroy it

When you forget

The pulse under your skin

That constantly beating heart

The one that fired up desire

The one that had you dancing in circles

Only to find yourself standing still

In the center of an empty room

Did you forget?

The pulse beneath your skin?

When you were doing all you’re doing?

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It feels good but…


It feels good but…


Too much, too soon

Pressure and stimulation

Patting and proding

Infringes on your desire to be felt

Infringes on your desire to be seen

Infringes on your chance to invite

Infringes on your chance to express

All of that

Has been swallowed

By pressure and stimulation

And yet you desire…

And your body thirsts

For satiating pleasure

Cut through the unspoken

Speak what you need

Like a knife slicing

Through blind lust

Be the hero of your pleasure

The conductor of your orchestra

Pleasure is in the divine orchestra of touch

Pleasure is the equilibrium of

Giving and receiving

When you cannot be heard

When you cannot be seen

When you cannot be felt

When you cannot be received

There is no pleasure

Let your heart fuel the fire

To ferociously give voice to your body’s need

To feel heard, seen and felt

Balance the balance

Speak the unspoken

Launch a rescue rope

To the divine nature of truth

Save yourself  from the illusion of blind lust

Crush through the fear that you will not be heard

Drop the fear that you will not be received

Burn the fear of crushing an ego with rejection

Lay down your fear of abandonment

Enter the empowered sanction

Of spoken feelings, needs and desires

Free yourself

And your lover

To drink the nectar of pleasure

Through connection by

Giving voice to your body

Explode your ambiguity by speaking the unspoken

Make pleasure into a clearly defined vessel of YES and NO

Pleasure has no room for being polite

Pleasure has no room for being right or wrong

Pleasure has no room for being good or bad

Pleasure only has room for what feels delicious


photo credit: Pinterest

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