a moon’s tale

The full moon, milky white, sends shadows raining through the forest to shade the trees, who wave with the slight summer breeze. Allthewhile, Nature’s night-lights zip and zoom, flashing code, hoping to bring a loved one home.

Drips from eyes, drips from skin, I lie at the base of a dead tree, once a towering oak like me, recently toppled by a mighty storm. Fetal and ready to give in, a miracle happens:

From a Heaven in the cosmos, blessed by the moon’s magnetic magic, a star falls. The midnight moon blinks darkness with the clouds, but the star burns a tail of fire, flashing brightest just before landing like a rock rolling.

A moon dust cloud dissipates to reveal a glowing golden sphere, darkness and light ccombine, pushing against each other with such force…the golden globe cracks open with a thundering drum roll, vibrating my soul.

Two hemispheres once met OPEN a shimmering portal, a parallel universe, out from which you bow into my world to transform everything I’ve ever known. Your positive energy produces an orange aura that moves your shadow asway, mesmerizing me.

Closer…closer…a steady, measured approach as float turns to a sturdy gate, you move towards me with a smile on your face. Inching yourself over to my naked body. Warmth from your eyes saturates my skin with the tickles of goose bumps, and you bend down on one knee.

A natural moonlight melody comes from your lips, “Kelley, I’m here…” And your arms cover me with an instant embrace that whisks me up…up and away…

In your world, you cradle me as I become the color of free.

(Oh, my addiction to the thrill of adoration! I literally roll my wheelchair in and out of challenging all day, every day…but, I take the longing, under the covers…you are intoxicating!

However, coveting with intensity, longing to consume the joy of your fire…I couldn’t get much higher…)

Inspiration: E.E. Cummings

The first poet who got my goat and really made me want to teach and write with a different kind of poetry is E.E. Cummings.

Years ago, I bought myself a small book called erotic poems e.e. cummings to spark some needed inspiration, but failed to find a spark let alone a flame of spark to build the desire.

For the first time I opened it today, needing out of my head in a big way, looking for inspiration that isn’t…Anyway, this is honestly the very first poem I read:

Layers of Beauty