About a Friend

You are music

Swirls of energy dancing in lavender-colored spirals with vaporous entrails of winding, shimmering light

Depositing bouncy vibrations of gold

You are a Gregorian chant

Deep tones of purple velvet

Nestled among hues of indigo, crimson, slate, midnight, steel, & sienna,

Converging and coalescing into One tone

A benediction

You are chocolate

Creamy, dark gelato

Melting inside my facial cavern

An ancient grotto where the darkness keeps the secret of your seduction as the chocolate slowly, ever so slowly,

Drips sensuously down my throat

Creating liquid stalactites

You are winter

Seasoned – Peppered with wisdom and grace

Pregnant with the seeds of Possibility

Gestating creative embryos

You are summer

Innocent Youth leaping, capering, frolicking

Over Kelly-green meadows of tall grass

Swaying like synchronized swimmers amidst

rows of iridescent tulip hats

Sun-soaked, mudlucious, puddle-jumping youth

Touting Crayola-colored balloons

On strings of harmonious, carousel melodies

Pure Joy

You are authentic

Mirthful, cheeky, sanguine, audacious, spirited

Vacillating, moony, impetuous

A complex, dynamic, magnificent woman

the Next Generation

Cronus Coreolis

Elder woman, Shimasani,

Shimasani, cronus, corona, coreolis, quintessential,

Entrails of smoke circling and spiraling

the Shimasani lies ahead, a – head –lies- in the dirt, a – head- lies on the pillow, lies on multitudes of pillows, the bed moves up

The bed ascends higher and higher to reach the ceiling

Beyond the roof, to the being I am to BE, to Become

I am the one who will teach the others,

I will teach the young

Follow me. Let me show you the way. Let me show you MY way. BUT…

You will follow your own way.

Your path.

I can only show you my path. Show you. Not live for you.

My path – pathological – pathos logical – paths of logic – pats of logic – past logic – past…

I am becoming the Past.

At some point there will be more behind me than beyond…

And then, I will move on

And you will BE.


You are dark nights. You are sundrenched fields at high noon.

You are love. You are my bleakest moment.

I believe in you, I curse you.

Pray for my soul as it lays in confusion, panting on the floor, a mangy, hungry dog.

Torn asunder by storms, picked apart by vagrants

Shattered glass

My fragmented reflections fractalized in the jagged shards

You, the sharpest shard,

Plunge yourself into my heart

A perfect puncture

Blood, breath of life, squirts onto your hand,

My crimson, majestic life force drips down your arm,

The pulsing slows

You taste me, my essence, red and alive, the juice of my being, reflected in the miasmic pool of amorphous glass

Dripping onto your soul

Burning a chasm, a tunnel, a river

You can feel me move down your veins and arteries and create tributaries in your flesh

And I become one with you

Who are you?

Where do you begin and where do I end?

the Divine Lover’s Dance

We sat and talked. Just talked – huddled in an old blanket.

We understood everything.

With words. Without words.

We laughed so hard we rolled on the floor.

Belly laughed. Big, long draws of breath, so hard it hurt our sides, and stole our breath, and we gasped for air.

And we understood.

And we looked deep into each other’s eyes,

and laughed some more.

The music calmed us.

He asked me what I wanted.

I told him to dance for me.

He moved like a warrior.

Strong, confident, bold, ready to battle any challenge.

The peaceful warrior. An oxymoron.

We were the quintessential paradox.                                          

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