sensualitea

in the kettle

of my soul

i brewed your words

quietly
and

sweetened our exchanges

with my honeyed thoughts
then

i sipped this soothing concoction

and
felt the warmth of you

trickle

s l o w l y

down

my

throat

magna poetry with my baby

love,

when you offer

your young eyes

to me
the ground seems

to move

everything is magic

there is

the promise of bliss

two tales of a city

Who could stand

in your fire

and not be consumed?

Your embers remained.

ButI bathed my heart in them

-it is pristine

like

the whites that the women

in Oaxaca washed

in ashes.

Do you remember?

They blinded us

in the sunlight

Now
your eyes

are black and mordicous

blinded by the smoke of

my delicious

and I have learned

to dance through flames.

my most faithful lover

I love the moon, it's been my most faithful lover. The moon is always there, like clockwork. An ardent listener to my songs, secrets, woes, and poems. it's waxing and waning make my womanly moods sing or sit quietly by under all its majesty.

I often remind my children, to thank the moon for lighting the night sky for our walk home from Grandma's, and the beautiful light through our window - perfect for an evening prayer, or a stolen kiss.

It's the same moon that Napoleon gazed at while dreaming of his Josephine, Rumi danced under, the Celtics prayed to, and Romeo met his Juliet. I wish the moon could tell me of all that he has seen. I would remind him how beautifully he lit the night while we swam in the Mediterranean, and how much I appreciated his solace in the vineyard so long ago...

I want to be extra soft so one day when my great great grandchildren beg "please majestic moon, tell us all she thought" - he will only glow in radiant silence.

A Merlot for the Moon

this time,

please,

let your hand

sleep there

on

my hot skin

I

am weak with want

we

shall make the moon drunk

on

the wine

of

our need

Lunatic

You may believe

that no one has seen
But the moon has

and
the moon and I are

best friends

I tell her all my secrets

she illuminates the night sky for our children,

listens to their songs

and
promises to bear witness

to your words.

Just Friends

I love it when you

say "You're the most beautiful

woman in the room"

Your eyes reveal a

bacchnalia of warm care

I wish I loved you.

Amorous Apiaries

I want,

my bee stung lips

to sing you

a honey dripped melody

of love's humble journey

I want you ,

to stir the sticky nectar

of

my golden honeypot -

Please,

Tell me worker bee

that I am,

your sweet thighed maiden

and

your golden honey goddess

Sunday with Shoaleh

Dainty little hands,

Sleeping so softly in mine

Nothing else matters -

Your sighs are sweet to

me, like virgin honeycomb

Or, a sunset prayer

Casanova

Beautiful starry night

All my words came out just right

He kissed me on the cheek

and

stuffed his number in my bag

But

All I could think about

was

My lifeline, that

I want to trace in the palm

of your hand

And

Your warm words

awaiting me

under

the covers

Henna Haiku

I was thinking of

adding some lines, in case your

hands needed a path

Landscapes Painted With Tea

My bedroom is my personal haven from the Universe. No matter how poor I have been, since I left home 16 years ago - I have always had an exquisite bedroom. I change things around in there frequently to fit my mood at the time.

Last night I moved things around. I put my reds, oranges, Juliet, Lady Godiva, and mandarin candles in the front room. I replaced them with my soft Asian girls, greens, golds and plums.

The morning sun came through the window, I was looking at the new arrangments discontentedly. My Mom was over, I told her of my restlessness, and wish to move things around again. Mom said "Sweetie, I love it. It's beautiful, serene, calm, a very 'Landscapes Painted With Tea' feel about it."

Aha! "Landscapes Painted With Tea".......... suddenly, I loved it. I expected a small Chinese girl in beautiful silk to emerge from my closet, I could taste the green jasmine tea, served in a dainty cup. I wanted to receive a letter on rice paper written in calligraphy, and listen to a soft mandolin.....

My epiphany in all of this was, sometimes, we just need a change of perception. If our perception changes, everything that seemed so ordinary before, can become extraordinary... if not extraordinary or exceptional..... at the least manageable.

I'm filled with anticipation at the thought of going home and basking in my Asian paradise.