a black hole of wanting

my body

a burning bush,
orange, amber, golden arms
wave in your direction.
your attention rapt.
you are summoned.

when i do nothing,
i feel everything arising. 
my spine lengthens.
i round into a heap, 
feeling as a sad brick
sinking.
i want to cry,
but there’s more yet
to this aching body’s unraveling.

longing consumes me. 
wraps itself around my hips,
pulling, pulling, breathing into
dense bundles of burning. 
sensual sleeves of fascia
enveloping not so delicate 
black holes of unrest. 
gravity in my bones. 
strength awakens unrelenting sensitivity.

is this inspiration too? 
this wicked snake
coiling round my nerve endings?

the fire, burning.

is this balancing?
homeostatic intervention?
what goes up, must come down.
it’s a cruel thing, this waving.
i need a little love to ease the pain
all over again. 
more of one
is more of the other. 
and i burn for all of this,
wretched and wondrous. 

my body is a black hole of wanting.
around me, reddened leaves wave with the breeze.
are they still burning?

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what can i say. the muse has her dark days, and all i can do is listen and feel and continue to allow her through. if this inspired you, or made you feel something, perhaps you’d like to buy me a coffee.

or, if you join as a paid subscriber, you’ll have access to feed the muse, a weekly creative workshop of sorts, to help you… well, feed the muse, and create like you’ve never created. $6/month or $60/year thru the end of the month.

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p.s.. i’ve been feeling a change coming to this space. i know, i know, i said “body of work” was gonna stick around for a while, but i guess my precognition was a little off that day. anyway, keep your eyes open for a transformation in the coming weeks (!)