This Lingering Maybe

I carry his voice on my skin.

Earlier, between a bath and the moon, my breasts perked to his voice. “I’m yours.”

I left the tub, entered the bedroom. “Were you talking?”

“No,” he smiled, “just typing.”

I walked away, wondering if his fingers had spoken this lingering “Maybe…” stroking the small of my back.

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the wee notes…
– I shared 2 paintings with friends on Facebook, and asked them which one they wanted me to write very short tales about. They chose the lady below, suggesting that there is something about her expression that made them (and me) want to know more about her.
– I will (very likely) shared a 55-word story every Thursday. I want to make this series of tales as interactive (and fun) as possible. So… you, my Wicked Luvs, get to choose 1 of 3 possible paths: 1) The voice she feels on her skin is produced by his thoughts/feelings. 2) She is imagining the voice. 3) The voice belongs to a character we’ve yet to meet.
– Written for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55.

Nude, by Shelle Kennedy

In Darkness, Let Your Fire Be Light!

Can you smell it…

feel it…

hear it…

the scent of autumn dancing in your bones… the chant of October, whispering… (October always whispers), “I’m adept at the powerful-but-forgotten art of lifting spirits”? Can you sense the fiercest bit of you, the one that makes you You, singing (shouting and shouting), “When things go bad, make them good… bite into life, let fate feel the magic that is you”?

I do, sense it… and I bite into life—teeth sharp, soul willing…

…and I write. Sometimes, I do it with others. Let me show you:

If you could read the thoughts of your wickedest Dream, what would your Dream write about you? Rommy and I pondered the question (with all the seriousness it deserved) and shared our findings at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. Go ahead, take a look-see.

I’m a journal and notepad hoarder. And like all stationery-loving dragons, I often delight in my stash. Yesterday, as I adoringly went through my paper-hoard (I want to handwrite my entries to Hedgewitch’s Friday 55), I ran into this giggler of a note (quite mad, indeed):

About Witches in Fiction 2017…
…yes, my Wicked Luvs, there will be a Witches in Fiction this year. Give me a week or more (I need to tweak a detail or three), then I will have an announcement post for you.

To those who asked about October publication, the answer is no. Apologies… But don’t be too upset with me, I will publish something hot and deep *cough* to warm our winter.

That’s it for now, my Luvs. Why don’t you delight me with some bright bits of you? Any yummy plans for the fall? Have you been keeping safe? Are you crafting?

Be fiercely you.

Be wild (if you want).

Do it with others (if you can).

And remember… in darkness, let your fire be light!

Let Me Love You Strange (or not at all)

“How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene, and dead ideas become obsessions.” ~ Lady Chatterley’s Lover

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I showed him the woman inside,
and gave him me—a wild story
of living sex and dirt and blood,
a poem inked in flesh and bone.

I told him I wanted to
dream words that inspire
tangible realities, and said,
“Ink no illusion you aren’t
willing (dying) to live.

Love me in ink, or not at all.
I am a poem in love—words
brewing normal inside out.
Let me love you strange,
relish in it (in us).”

I wanted him
in ink, hot and alive
inside flesh that burns
like love-drunk lust
trapped in shut lips.

I showed him I wanted
him (all of him) in ink,
or not at all.

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Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

the visual poetry

and two more poem bits, here and here