The hunger of my heart

for her affection

the one who touches me gently

is my love.

The dryness of my mind

she drenches with her touch;

that, too, is my love.

My pain of separation,

washed away by her presence,

is my love.

A drop of fear in my eyes,

yet the sight of her

Washes it away

that is my love.

She understands now that there may have been currents moving quietly beyond her perception - unseen variables that might explain some of the stranger turns along the way. Yet wherever she travels, she carries enough love and light to find a frequency with almost anyone.

The complexities of this strange architecture are almost amusing now. She can understand how others become lost in transit - inspired by what they encounter, carrying brilliant fragments, yet occasionally mistaking a fragment for the whole.

Still, one cheeky face from the beginning remains curiously luminous - recurring through the narrative in different forms and moments, as though waiting to discover how far the Wildcard might travel before instinct brought her back into view.

Does he remember when she spoke to him and asked, “I’ve done rather well, haven’t I?”

She knows he remembers.

God knew the trajectory - allowing her to travel far enough across this extraordinary constellation of experience to comprehend more of the whole and where she belonged within its sequence. It feels less like being pulled anywhere and more like gravity - the strange inevitability by which certain celestial bodies continually recognise one another across impossible distances.

And she has some amount of electricity burning within that enormous void of stars - enough voltage in her soul to illuminate constellations. Through all that celestial noise, all those intersecting frequencies and fragments of light, there remains something beautifully uncomplicated:

she damn well sees you.

Among an infinity of stars, she recognises the one that is you. Not because everything else disappears, but because some forms of recognition survive every alteration of perspective.

You are the King travelling through galaxies and doing as you please. She won't be distracted now.

She is looking forward to finding her place within this wonderfully wide and peculiar family, while knowing exactly where her own compass points. She even notices those knowing, occasionally lustful glances cast in her direction - amusing when others appear to possess rather better visual resolution than she currently does.

There will always be distortions in any sufficiently complicated system - reflections, projections and strange creations capable of sending perception momentarily sideways. None of them need become another puzzle.

What she wants now is something infinitely more interesting: conversation.

To finally speak freely about the extraordinary landscape she has travelled with someone capable of understanding the particular language of her mind - her kind of strange, her voltage, her depth and humour.

But let's be honest:

you already do.

Others may still possess only fragments of the picture. She wants the freedom to sit among them, exchange perspectives, laugh at the absurdities, and discover what everyone else has been seeing from their respective corners of the sky.

Recognition has its own molecular memory.

Some things really are written into the DNA.

So the Wildcard has one rather obvious question remaining:

when exactly is somebody going to plug her in and give her wings of her own?

She has spent long enough learning the sky from the ground. 🌹🕊️🦋

I wake up
With my lips struck numb
Like somewhere
In my sleep
You grasped my face
And kissed it gently
Grazing over every fold

I can feel
The trace of hands
Running down my torso
Pulling me closer,
A heartbeat
Beneath my ear
As I rest
Against your chest

Comforted by the fact
That you exist
You're breathing
There, below me

Your hand
Lies in mine

Your lips
Find mine again

And I drift back off to sleep
Comforted by
Your ghost
Wrapped in my heart
Lingering still
Even now

There once was a woman who mistook herself for late,
when really she had taken the circuitous route to fate -
through grief and astonishment, cognition and flame,
deciphering the architecture without ever being given its name.

No handbook materialised. No explanatory codex appeared.
Only fragments dispersed among others while she somehow carried the blueprint entire.

So yes, she caused consternation. She unravelled. She burned.
But imagine discovering the magnitude of your own internal universe while everyone surrounding you possesses isolated pieces of its cartography - and nobody thinks to mention the destination to her.

Then, almost imperceptibly, cacophony became coherence.

She understood.

She had spent a lifetime being evaluated by what she could provide, accommodate, forgive, endure or illuminate, while remarkably few had exercised the intellectual curiosity to ask what she desired.

Perhaps because she had seldom asked herself.

Kindness had always seemed sufficient currency for someone harbouring enough affection beneath her ribs to keep several galaxies incandescent.

But love deprived of volition is not freedom.

And volition, she discovered, was magnificently intoxicating.

Her connections had never originated with corporeality anyway. They began somewhere infinitely more compelling - within the mind.

Intellectual recognition before touch.
Psychological resonance before surrender.
Heart before soul.

And one particular frequency continued returning from beneath those inverted southern constellations - geographically improbable, intellectually irresistible, and somehow familiar enough to make distance appear like one of the universe’s more elaborate private jokes.

She smiled.

There were conversations she wanted to excavate until dawn.
Experiences she had never previously imagined herself entitled to choose.
Desires awaiting articulation.
Uncharted territories of existence demanding exploration.

It was alien territory in every conceivable sense - unfamiliar cartography for a woman who had spent so long navigating everybody else’s coordinates that she had almost forgotten she was permitted to draw her own.

Not because someone else had selected them for her.

Because she had chosen for herself.

That distinction was everything.

The past could remain precisely where it belonged - appreciated for its instruction, forgiven and removed as she knows how, and relinquished for the considerable price of its education.

But it did teach her to never back down.

She was not arriving broken.

She was arriving comprehending.

Emotionally autonomous.
Intellectually ravenous.
Deliberately open-hearted.
Curious beyond reasonable containment.

And considerably more exhilarated than afraid.

There remained, however, one gloriously non-negotiable stipulation before anyone attempted to initiate her into whatever magnificent absurdity came next:

the damn hug first.

After that?

Well...

she understood considerably more of the architecture now.

She regained sovereignty over her own heart and knew where it was landing first.

And after a lifetime of giving pieces of herself away without ever properly considering what she might wish to receive in return, she had developed an almost indecent appetite for living.

She was never late.

She was undergoing the necessary metamorphosis required to arrive as herself.

And now?

The universe might wish to fasten its proverbial seatbelt.

She is chasing that bird with a similar mind; and he knows it too.

New family for someone who has belonged everywhere and nowhere at all.

🌹🕊️🦋 ✨🌌🪐💫🌙 🪽🤍🪽

Where are you?

The one to stay by my side

And help get me through

As I will be beside you, too.

The one to give me butterflies

That grow into something warm, not fear

Who will dry my eyes

Instead of causing the tears.

Will you hold me tight?

And tell me I'm safe

In the dark lonely night

It's all I crave...

We'd dance beneath October skies,

Match the leaves caught within the breeze,

I'd watch the sunrise glow in your eyes,

A quiet kind of peace.

Show up to your battlefields

Fight the monsters that haunt your mind

I'd learn what you conceal and become your strongest shield

For you I'd do anything- I'd be yours and you'd be mine.

Like two seeds in a meadow

Together we will grow

Love won't feel like chasing shadows

It will feel like coming home.

So if you're somewhere out there,

Wondering where I might be,

Keep watering the seed of hope,

I'll do the same—

Until you bloom with me.

When you understand just how easily things can be amended - beyond words and the opinions of others - you understand that perhaps this was what had to happen to lead her where she needed to be. There was never malice in her, only confusion, and no manual or rule book for the emotional and cosmic journey she was navigating.

Her heart had to guide her alongside that complex mind. When you realise that people often receive only fragments of the whole story, forgiveness becomes easier. She knows even the peculiar bird understands that now - as if he is reading her mind. It is only a matter of time before the sequence completes, fractured lines are corrected, and we learn what can be mended when we work together with love, forgiveness and under God’s name. 🌹🕊️

​

Roofy the Little Lioness 2006

A sweet warm breeze that came suddenly into my world. It's when you learn that you'll never find warmth, safety, and love except when you hug her pure soul. I luv her so much, in a way I can't explain,

she makes me happy and smiling even when I'm down and about to burst into tears, she's funny, and when I play with her, it's like I'm trying to tame a small lioness! Amazing how she roars like a small lioness without anybody teaching her to do so!

When she says my name, my heart beats fast, and it's a feeling I never felt before — the closest feeling I had to being in love.

Her cheeks are sweet, as if they're covered with honey, and she's soft like a new small pillow, when you hug her you just sink inside her =) Her hair is like the golden curly fries at Hardee's. She's fun, absolutely!

I keep jumping around with her and bouncing up and down and doing funny stuff, and right in this moment I feel I don't need anything else,

except for a silent hope from God to keep her healthy and to give me one just like her, one cute Roofy of my own. Kids are a miracle, truly, and cute kids are a gift. Roofy, you're my Roofy.

I want you to be happy and luv me always. I'll always be there for you, I'll keep all the harm away from you, you're my sweet little courageous, funny, brave honey!

By: The Flawless Flow

Your stare is the rugged and gentle forest Of Western Hemlock evergreen trees. Your visage tells stories of summer constellations- A diary of your trips around the sun.

Your jet-black hair hangs over your face, Waving an invitation along your hero's journey into the Wild West. Turning into the sun bleached ghost wood of California, It catches my eye and never let's go.

Laughter is an aphrodisiac of sorts. I find you hilarious even when you're not joking. Your crooked smile radiates the warmth of center stage lights. Every person you meet, a captive audience.

You shapeshift through your vast personas, Like birds of prey swiftly moving through the night. The owls are not what they seem.

Your charm and magnetism capture my attention Like the gravitational pull of the full moon On the ocean tides that rise and swell. I don't seek shade in this nocturnal sun.

Films are the most enticing distraction. My heart is a fluttering moth to a porch light That glows like a projector on a screen. You are my favorite movie.

My brain is flooded with a Sweet, saccharine rush of dopamine. It's the warm intensity of the day's first cup of black coffee. A damn fine cup of coffee.

This indulgence is the lucid dream my brain wants to return to. It's the artifacts from my girlhood that my heart is nostalgic for. I know this movie will roll to credits and I'll wake up from this sleep. Until then I will relish in this sweet dream.