She’s So Full of Herself

I was going to bed and my stomach laughed at my presumptuous ways. So, I decided to stop trying to dream with my eyes closed, and chose to spend time leafing through bookish dreams instead—books never laugh at me (too loudly *cough*).

Cinderella Skeleton, by Robert D. San Souci, came first. This Cinderella story makes more sense to me than most. I mean, as the picture below suggests, Prince Charming is obviously a forensic anthropologist with a thing for women’s bones… and shoes, which completely explains why he can identify his soulmate by a dismembered limb and not, for instance, by the depth of her conversation or unforgettable eye sockets.

I left the fairy tale to visit The Devil’s Rose, by BROM. As always, his words and art are dark and delicious. This particular book includes very few images with flesh on them, so I decided to show you this one… Well, part of it, since the rest is drenched in blood, and on the way to also being defleshed—dearest BROM delights in creepy.

Speaking of bloody and creepy and nailed, my delicious Piano Man got me a copy of Harlequin Valentine, written by Neil Gaiman and illustrated by John Bolton. Yep, he loves me that much… Nothing says I love you like Gaiman, nails and bloody hearts.

And because everything deserves loving and cuddling, I read a few poems from The Sex Lives of Monsters, by Helen Marshall. It was a present from Rommy—it seems that she, too, knows me. I must remember to ask her how long it took her to realize that I’m extremely fond of giant eyeballs, ribcages, spines and dreamcatchers.

After three hours of book-dreaming, my stomach was still being a royal bastard. So, I walked to the terrace to talk to my plants in the dark… just to find out that the moon was completely full of herself, and the darkness had to dance in the shadows…

The dark and the moon playing their natural games made me smile. With a grin on my tired face, I went inside to collect some flower petals I had been drying for a day or 3, and offered them to the moon. She didn’t wink in appreciation or anything, but my tummy was finally ready to let me sleep.

How do you capture sleep when it does not want to play, my Wicked Luvs?

A Wild Woman’s Self Belongs to None

I touch her lashes and warm her cheeks, caress the titillating tale dancing on her mind’s lips. She is dark and bright and alive under me. I want to enjoy her eyes on my heat, but Nix sets a mountain between us. Tomorrow is only a few dreams away. I will awaken your skin at dawn, my sweet. I will taste

My thoughts collapse under Sin’s silvery tongue. “She was born to my glow”, he says, painting a trail on the sea, making waves rise for him. “She dances for my light and dark. She is of me. Her Self is mine.”

I say nothing as I dim for Nix. But through the energy that makes Sin and You and Nix and Me sidereal bits of the Universe’s whole, I burn a sunny truth into the moon: “I flow in her veins,” I tell him, “glow in her soul, help heal her woes. Yet, she’s neither mine nor yours—a wild woman’s Self belongs to none.”

kiss the sea
at dusk, sun and moon,
taste my wilds

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a wee note…
Nix is the Greek Goddess of the night; Sin (or Nanna) is the Sumerian God of the moon.
– Linked to Prompt Nights – a photograph is but a memory in raw format.
– I am also linking to Poets United – Poetry Pantry #317.

Sunset, Friday Harbor