Tooth and Thorn
I’ll have peace in my home,
I’ve earned it.
You’ll never hear a voice risen
or harsh sound for any reason
other than swept in spirited
song or love making.
Chivalry isn’t dead, you see
this is what it means:
my size and strength in relation
to the lives around me, the courtesy
of boundaries.
Make space
for those softer and smaller,
who belongs here knows
where to step, to tread gently,
fingers lightly or palms hungry,
but never greedy.
Never cruel.
One misstep in my garden, hurry
or intrusion, an ill-intent results
in a wicked three inch spike
straight through.
Accidents happen. Some mistakes
you can’t afford to make
in my presence.
Apex predators don’t waste
time or calories, threats
eliminated immediately.
Those defenses honed
over centuries ensuring
only deft hands,
sensitive mouths taste
the sweetness brought
by ruthless affection.
Baby Steps
My instincts are strong,
if you’re within range long, you’ll tell me
your darkest corners, or you’ll Tell me.
After all, pain
is stored in the body, the things
you carry shape you. There,
inside a pinprick hollow both
full and empty with whatever
existed before creation.
If I turn my head one degree keen,
train my eyes on you, there,
the story comes. Wind catching,
creak splitting, cry nipping,
wings beating escape
thoughts unbidden.
In the kitchen or in a dream,
a piece of me finds the right
form to slip past your noise—
an asteroid belt of daily refuse—
and scent the truth. I’ll take care
not to spook you, to help
you grow in the only direction:
face the sun.
Addiction
People are always doing everything
they can, human or otherwise.
The remedies
for Ups and Downs differ
in receptors and distribution,
the same deception as religion,
your mind places no distinction
between physical and emotional
hurt.
Adrenaline blocks sedation
in a bind, saline solution clears
the nose, activated charcoal water
to purge, induce vomiting where fighting
spirit prevails.
A pinch of poison present
in every cure, be sure
with your affections, be bold
because neurons that fire together
wire together. Pathways
electromagnetic, allow it, this
intervention. You can learn
at any age. The brain produces
opiates all on its own
when nurtured so.
Precious, you never needed
life to be easy, you just needed
someone to be There.
Baptized
A body wants a place, once
I trailed along beneath old growth
redwood canopy threading consonant
through the floor of heaven.
Hallowed and shivering,
dewdrops and morning mist,
emerald ferns and every destination.
Their breath took root then,
echoed ever since, given voice
even when lost
to fire.
I’ll keep walking
until I breathe that air
again, if only when my melodies
mark time on the road.
Maman Brigitte
A house possess spirit,
keeping hearth honors thus,
it’s meant to be lived in,
only tombs gather dust.
Got bikers and voodoo—
could say it’s a scene—
got truckers and dives and
human trafficking.
Valley fever in the fields—
if by fields you mean flats—
child porn in the schools,
priests and cops in on that.
Stripper or soldier or starvation wage,
nobody’s reaching retirement age,
unless you came that way,
here waiting to die,
say there’s nothing to do,
did you ask yourself why?
Grave of First Woman,
Queen of Cemetery,
burning peppers in rum,
plant trees in her memory.
Got Nazis on remix
racing the streets
children could play in
if it weren’t for the heat
and the police—
dig a bit deeper you’ll know
what I mean reason women
won’t be reporting.
Tweakers crypt strutting
on skeleton business, got skin
like gas station hot dogs—
be sure your dumpster’s locked.
Another Honda Civic mod
fit to deafen god.
Each picked a poppet,
corn husk carried close,
may swaddle or pierce it,
bound which path you chose.
Got nose hairs singed sooty,
no visibility—don’t look,
bumps in the street,
this is fine, probably the right
lane, there’s Operation Cool Shade
with the willows again.
Bless those black parking lot pigeons,
still making it work poisoned
by heavy metals and disdain.
Bless those who’ve got nothing
still carrying their dogs to spare
them scorched feet.
Barista didn’t charge for my coffee,
just winked at me.
Solitary Confinement
Sometimes the enclosure is too small,
without company, texture, or movement.
The beast paces back and forth,
claws, fur, and teeth scraping,
eyes unseeing past the bars.
Never approach still water.
Hearing is the last to leave you,
so we start there.
Don’t seek the open door
if there’s no rhythm to the next room.
Muffled footsteps, pattering faucet,
clinking dishes, whirring fan,
crunching kibble, kicking an itch
behind its ear, shaking it off.
For a moment you caught voices,
but that’s none of your concern.
From the River Styx
Well not to point fingers
at the devil’s sacrament but
I wasn’t drunk or high so
I’m marginally responsible.
This guy stood stricken staring
at nothing, white as new moon roadkill
and about to be but men
prey on sympathy and I
did try to remain unseen.
Gasp.
Motherfucker looking dead at me
like he ain’t seen another soul
or I was the ghost.
“You’re beautiful,”
that’s top shelf hospice
drugs right there, yep,
“- glowing like an angel!”
“That’s the sun rising.”
Gasp.
“My girlfriend’s waiting for me,
she’s beautiful too!”
Buddy got lost three whole days
previous, doing gods know what,
definitely not eating, or bathing
from the smell.
Told him report back to upper management,
pulled a Pink Panther to be sure he went.
A window winked on, godspeed bitch,
he’s your problem now.
I’m not looking to go out of my way,
but on my honor if there’s any woman
dead or alive still gives
a fuck ’bout you, I’ll do my best
to get you home to her.
Lullaby of an Elder Kind
Been playing those heartstrings,
scarred things, a condor’s wings
fletched baritone.
Strung up by adhesions alone,
did you forget you’re home,
if you’d just come down
we’ll set those bones.
Oh beauty, my creature,
old wounds need fresh edges,
you gotta bleed where the damage is,
if it takes the needle I’ll mend it.
Been soaring for some distance.
I’ve missed this, aloft my branches
in fixed position.
Till death given permission,
too tired to carry on,
you’ll never want for carrion,
see now storm’s come and gone.
Oh beauty, my creature,
old wounds need fresh edges,
you gotta bleed where the damage is,
if it takes the needle I’ll mend it.
Cowgirl Conjuring
One shot for the gods,
one shot for the dead,
one shot for the land,
whence water has fled.
Ropin’ a kelpie worlds away,
sweet talkin’, wend walkin’,
five finger grip in his mane.
No Gaelic but dangerous
hearts beat in time,
as moon pulses tidal
do I call him mine.
One lock silvered brown,
one tight marshtress braid,
one knot no bridle,
that I’m not afraid.
Bareback barefoot thighs firm in the rain,
who’s driving who ‘cross once rolling plains,
river, sinew, thunder, near,
lips grace his neck if I want his ear,
blood, bite, bass, here.
Mud slick tragic mess of a man,
all it took some persuasion.
Fairy Tales
The child naked and strange,
became a woman stranger
to her family, some other
breed.
At a loss,
took up patchwork, clothes
maketh She.
What could she be, anything
but matching,
but plain enough for he.
Nose to the grind and colorblind,
did he even see
her screaming just touch me
know Me.
Once finished
her swan song seams,
he asked why their love dimmed,
said she only drank
around him.
True Crime
Icy down of predawn,
a second space.
Waking up
or still awake?
Who are you there
when flesh is cold?
Scratching tally marks
on the walls of your soul.
Are you alone?
If you can face it
a truth be known.
Tossing in sheets
or burrowed in furs?
Toes tickle feet
under covers.
It’s unforgiving wilderness, I’m sure,
but I’m right here.
I’m right here.
Despair
Hush, little one,
we begin in the dark of the moon.
Hvshi ninak aya,
you need not cry for her to hear you,
she’ll be here soon.
Hvshi ninak aya,
brave chin for work yet to do,
go pick up a broom.
Hvshi ninak aya,
grunge and cobwebs caked to beat loose,
dishes in your room.
Hands open, little one,
small as may be.
Hvshi ninak aya,
there’s more when you’re ready.
On Twelfth Night
Unspoken seed stuck in my teeth
of a different story,
before the scene opening,
orphaned twins
across the ocean so suited,
performing
well into the wee hours, drunk sailors,
merchants or rogue royalty mayhaps.
It could be us, our craft, the stars,
and the sea. Draft
of uncertainty, freedom to fly
or fall. What could be said
side by side gazing upwards?
Deny the agony
of separation.
I’ll keep going
if you will.
Talking Dirty
About 800 sq ft with a greenhouse.
Built it myself.
Early morning,
lover sleeping it off in my bed,
kitchen window open, cats
tussling around my ankles, dog
resting her head on my thigh
while I brew tea. Autumn
leaves just beginning to turn,
spider knitting its veil,
wind chime,
fingers flickering
over a woodwick flame,
crackle, pop.
Four acres, plenty
of privacy, fully
stocked pantry.
A white caribou chosen
to overwinter on my grounds,
she’ll find everything she needs
here, until she gives birth.
It’s about intention.
Agroforestry
Think of them as kingdoms
or great houses.
First is the canopy, often eldest,
extant, or quickest. Skyscrapers
provide shelter.
Second is the understory, heirloom
cornucopia, no two
the same.
Third is the shrubbery, jack
of all trades, lover or fighter,
these guys have range.
Fourth are the herbs, as you’d expect,
locally sourced as they’re hard
to protect.
Fifth are the rhizomes, calorically dense,
everyone loves them, battle
firmly entrenched.
Sixth is the ground cover, love letter
to bees, pollinator paradise,
go crazy with these.
Seventh are the vines, an aria
of flexibility, creativity reigns
supreme.
All laid foundation for this,
on broken holy ground we’ll make it
together.
Tanchi Story
Long ago leaner times,
two brothers, hunters,
sought game for their village.
Days running on empty, little
left between them. Failure
not an option, if it cost
their own limbs.
Last supper beside small fire—
mothers taught them how—
silence and shadows.
A woman wailing,
terrible shape of grief,
artless misery, down in the deep
river bank. Freeze.
They felt their way to her,
“Why do you weep?”
“I’m hungry.”
Set to die anyway, horrors
they couldn’t unsee,
“Please, share our fire,
you need this food more
than we.”
She took only delicate bites,
stood up a beauty,
“Thank you for your hospitality,
tell no one you’ve seen me, and
return to this place
at full moon.”
Gone.
Poor of pride, without proof
of purpose, the brothers
and their village muddled through,
short a few children
and elders.
Where the woman waited,
a burial mound
crowned with corn.
Where grown
starved never again.
Power
Kiss nesting on shoulders’ clasp,
purr-flutter shudder-breaths,
each rib of his chest, heartbeat
steady in my palm.
Belly exposed,
thick fur and visceral
cradling
his spine sweetly curved,
no reservation.
Feral, they said.
I said, bet.
Asymmetrical Warfare
Listen,
I can submit a man
just pulling guard position.
Wherever he thinks he’s won,
I’ll put his reserves to run,
the bigger they are the faster
drained, snatch their strength
where it’s made.
I can sit in a triangle,
ambivalent to indignity, he’s
panting and dripping certain
he’s got me.
Helpless wee baby, a bowl
of noodles on bricks. I do admit
I get some kicks.
I can soften him up
before he ever steps on the mat,
I could play tough girl tomboy
but there’s no fun in that.
Acting a man won’t make you strong,
only their games say otherwise,
stop playing along.
No More Sons
According to the rules
of men, wars can end a matter
of formality. Parameters
shifting, denial
of wrongdoing.
A system
of resource extraction,
as if the Earth and her creatures
require a master,
a clenched fist,
as if she is not Herself
the answer.
Women aren’t expected
to attend because birth
is the duty of second class
citizens.
Our bodies the spoils
of war.
White Blood Cells
Money is worthless outside
this necropolis,
its only purpose to obscure
value, fair
trade Eden for endless
industry.
Cancer is not progress,
what stage is this now?
Radiation therapy
because women are too weak
to enforce boundaries.
Syncretism
Scholars debate the link
between Brigid and Brigitte
because those scholars
are men.
Seeds sprout anywhere their
conditions are met.
When does a goddess of life
become a goddess of death?
In the kitchen, the laundry,
the fields, tiny graves mote it be.
Red wild hair or more nightly breed,
women in kind recognize She.
Come, made space your prayers with me,
we may not speak a common tongue,
a woman’s is the only blood
not born of violence,
on her moon that is.
Who was it suffered really
for your sins?
Healing is retribution,
without justice there is no
peace.
A sacred flame, poetry
is motion, be it
stove or forge or circled stones,
the giants’ mead, the well
of a World Tree. Do you see?
It’s getting late
and a bed’s been made.
When does a goddess of life
become a goddess of death?
When?
When?
When you take
a woman’s choice away.
Passion of Isis
In a jealous rage,
the gods tore her twin to pieces,
set wandering daughter
of earth and starry sky
with naught but her wits
and words and fine fingered
hands.
A woman of the people,
here and there,
bit by bone
she reassembled
the love of lifetimes,
kintsugi masterpiece,
second breath as wild yeast,
commanded to rise.
Oh but paid a price,
she had him just one night,
made such music remember him by,
a child
likewise despised.
Her love eternal departed
lord of the Under
world, and she
carried on.
Every guest,
loaf of bread, baby
safely delivered, mother
of the throne itself, more
than merely a kingmaker,
who rules only at her pleasure.
The stuff of living is her measure,
where two meet and meet again
at every journey’s end.
13th Month
There’s a winter moon missing
from our year, blood
springs every 28 days, notches
on a bone.
Where did she go?
Severed and nailed
at the mantels veiled
to ward rearticulation.
Like it will protect them.
Thirteen, traditionally,
is the number of magic,
luck, and love.
A woman’s gift,
bless her house with kittens
to eat vermin.
Like that albatross,
a black cat is only an ill omen
if you kill it.
Beer and Bread
Hops, oat straw, and barley fermented
bring milk, among other things.
Kettled and brewed, wetted bosoms,
sweat or colostrum.
Nerve pinching labors
of love. Flour smacked boules
properly soured, motes multiply
these efforts. Porous
village reef.
Invisible GDP.
Dirt and Glitter
Tulle skirt, goth metal shirt,
switchblade and hammer in my purse.
The first rule of fight club:
never smile for a random man.
Sparkly Converse, hair feathers,
four chain problem fairy godmother.
The second rule of fight club:
drop your location for your girls.
Midnight hour, steak fries devour,
heathen under midnight glower.
The third rule of fight club:
no witnesses.
Sticking Point
I know what he did to you
in that darkened bedroom,
split in two
ages, I heard
the smaller stifling
screams, that dream
in early September.
The bigger I could reach,
comforter up over his head,
pale eyes in the cracked door,
distant.
As I had no body,
all I could do
was turn on the light.
Strangers
If I can see a thing,
I can name it.
If I can name it,
it be unmade.
The rules
of science and subconscious
are very much the same.
Your prefrontal cortex
has no control
over the amygdala.
Not in the way you think.
You need a strong stomach
to do what I do.
Can’t get put off your feed.
Gotta tell stories
a scared kid listens to.
Call it software engineering.
A shape they can trust,
a familiar.
Something they can hold
when applied pressure,
any position
is a stress position
load bearing
long enough.
Mind Your Business
Large, furry, warm,
and round.
You wouldn’t hurry either
if you weighed 1000 pounds.
Sometimes a body’s
just got to eat
and sleep and dream.
Who’s gonna stop you
if you’re with me?
Don’t keep with rudeness,
cameras and foolishness,
like they own the place.
Might bite their face.
But that dumpster smells nice.
Let’s have a look.
Real Gold
Butter bankin’s no joke,
if he ain’t put cows on it
he playin’.
One good girl sees the whole
hood through tough times.
Anyone knows what they’re about
treats her like a queen,
don’t pretend otherwise.
Granny used to ride—
bein’ child sized—
their Jersey fine across the green,
such as there was then, during
the Great Depression.
Never did get taller.
Didn’t get dead neither.
Say nothin’ of her suitors.
Thanksgiving
Flailing like a trout on the line
or slopping like a dog with a rubber
peanut butter ball
is NOT
appropriate technique.
Consider this peach.
Cleft rosy and nectar kissed,
cupped with mapled oats and spice,
whiskey rasped cream whipped up
and melting at the navel.
Dessert best served
marquise on a tableau bed
of marrow sucked bones. Pristine
from being broken down
and seen to.
RIP Michealangelo
Candle choral fireplace
at the prow of the den, cut
diagonal on Alaska King sectional,
silvery dove grey flocked velour oversized
gathering everyone pillowed
at the stern.
Oldest Daughter regales
squaring up with two hoodrats
at a bonnie, won the fight but lost
a chain. Just a scuffed little elbow
mars her mortician color scheme.
Youngest Daughter flits
about the room with a Polaroid
and her best friend. Momma mentions
laughing so hard she just slipped out
and she snaps a picture because
we’re perfect right now.
The two of us corner centered
in sprawling repose, dry rose jewel tone
in our glasses, my finger playfully
poking her shoulder.
Crowning achievement
of her birthday.
Baba Yaga
When your shy recluse friend
invites you to a bedroom hang out
you are duty bound to profusely
appreciate her mysterious nest
of trinkets. Behold
the floor.
It’s clean-ish. Praise
her totems.
Lloyd from SPYxFAMILY
if I’m not mistaken.
Nezuko from Demon Slayer
but of course.
Merely a formality,
because what I’m really
here to do is run filthy
commentary on media
of her choosing.
Shameless
as two widowed hags
wine drunk at a craft store.
No bras allowed.
Her mom pitches in from next door,
“We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
Waiting in the Wings
“You’re so fucking hot,”
is so beside the point
it stings.
The best you ever thought
to say to me.
Sunbeam simple didn’t stick
so it’s riddle time:
You only look up when I’m gone,
much too slight or much too strong,
the world ends if I ever stop.
What am I?
Asked so small to come inside,
couldn’t even look me in the eye,
maybe you were terrified,
you knew your lady
could swing a scythe.
Did my final smile
upon your face
seem cruel?
Ten years to thin air,
breezy, I leave quickly
as I came. Bought land
5000 miles away, saved five years
to this day. Baby, I don’t blame
you. But baby I don’t play.
One might be unfeeling,
so here’s two:
If your executive functions
can catch my rear view,
you’ll see all the pictures
your mother treasures most
are ones I took of you.
Pleasure of Skadi
Giants ruled high north,
hard freeze volcanic peaks,
so slain a King of these.
For even gods must answer
for their crimes, they faced
his daughter’s might.
The head of house decides
justice. The obligation
of that rule.
She donned her terrible armor
and played it straight, stealth
quite unnecessary.
Prepare to die or bed with me.
Either or both, means
an end.
The bachelors presented
their feet,
some Odin class trickery.
As it happen the only part of Njord
that wasn’t crusty.
Baldur got off scot free.
They did try
to be happy. Mountains
and the sea, no in between.
Warm and humid met
cold and dry bred
hurricanes,
so she went
home.
No match
for a good coat, a good boot,
a sumptuous roast, or the furs
adorning her own chambers.
If she longed to sight tracks
of a new lover on her hunts
she never let on.
But fate’s winding ways
did string her bow back then.
Her warning shot struck
a different man.
Little known Ullr, stranger
to his kin, had seen her pull up
and saw his twin.
Wed or not, Ullr need him a freak,
loved fierce a big
personality,
pulled up his pants,
strapped on his skis,
and went to meet his destiny,
and well she was appeased.
Yule Be Dreaming
My red spiced lamb curry
and blue corn tortilla fed
everyone here. Low maintenance,
blood building, better with age.
Bubbling cauldron of conversations,
I do stir the pot a bit.
Mostly I admire your lashes,
the sleepy shadows under your eyes,
the tendons in your throat as you laugh.
Could I catch it,
if I put my mouth there?
Would you make a sound?
Stretch silk velvet artfully twisted,
lovingly stitched by hand, the same
thread as mended your sweater.
Nobody would know you’re my man
but for mere moments
you search the lively room
to be sure you’ve not strayed
from my sight.
Cursed Princess
Imprisoned she
slept to survive. In crossing
the boundary she lost time, life.
Bonds made there shrivel outside.
This is the price
of poverty.
Something missing
in every conversation, a knife
when well meaning relations
ask Why. She couldn’t
belong anywhere
but the bottom
line.
The golden thread
tethering a grand illusion,
beautiful people living high,
believing their altitude grant sight,
but in her callused, aching hand
that knife.
Arthritis
To the clinical observer,
it’s the frankincense, turmeric,
cayenne, and clove oils suspended
in beeswax, absorbed
on contact.
I sang A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal
over my double boiler as the first
night mare winds drove down
from the north. Cats’ tails
lashing at the screen door.
Lavender front room,
white pumpkins and sage foliage,
champagne and darkest blue.
You’ll sit at the dining table
while I finish the current chore.
I’ll ask about your week
so I know where it hurts.
Once you laugh a little, I warm
the salve in my palm.
Keep talking
so you’re not embarrassed
when more than just your hands
melt into my touch. Lingering,
as the oils absorb
on contact.
Rusty Hinge
Go to ground.
The lowest point
caught in a bad dream
is the exit.
Places a waking mind
would assign unimportance,
peripheral.
The path is a spiral,
sheds its skins as you follow
it down, down. It closes in
on you, swallowing.
Tight, unknowable, forgotten,
unassuming as a spider’s
trap door.
Unreality
You can’t save people
or change their minds,
they barely even dream.
Go outside.
A human
needs to grow food, tend animals,
reside near running water, and cuddle.
That’s it.
What’s done will take
hundreds of years to mulch out.
That’s Her business, yours
is making amends to pigeons, rats,
raccoons, and weeds. Fault
is not the same as responsibility.
Meet your neighbors
grasping the toxic scraps
of your passive hostility.
Do right by them
if the rest is too scary.
Put out some soil. All
that’s required for life
to succeed, is for you
to step aside.
Pruning Shears
You killed him,
more good dead anyway,
can’t get off to his deeds
if it’s maggots.
Picking holes in your cloth
because you feel bad?
Or because you don’t?
Let that shit go.
Heaven is a place you know,
here and now, there is no after
life, only perpetual becoming,
missed for all that running.
Stand your ground.
A nightmare becomes a dream
when you pass judgment.
Come to the Altar
Cynicism is just cowardice
with a PhD, babe you know me,
spade’s a spade’s a patriarchy.
No patience for weakness
or posturing. That don’t mean
you’ve nowhere to sleep, your silly
scuffs kissed clean. It’s not hard
to do the right thing, when right
is your woman fighting.
Too many chiefs, not enough warriors,
as if your hurt’s a match for Hers,
or hers or hers. What’s holy
is your heart wholly in her hands.
Well chosen, she knows the weight
of command,
yours a shape she understands,
a spirit of her house.
Magic Mirror
The worst men do’s been done
or lustfully imagined, the best yet born,
they’re not the creative sort, cannibal
species on a suicide course, correction
not complicity, mongrels left to freeze,
stop bringing them to bed just
because they’re half house broken
or you’re bored. Clutch some token
fiction boy, bitch that’s idolatry, see
standards at the slaughter up and down
these streets. Bitch he ugly.
Not an Abuser ain’t personality.
Catch the clap off that plague stick,
make your girl seven kinds of sick,
he’s not funny he’s just loud and a prick,
that’s right I said it,
bestie on read to ride with that,
finishing yourself ’cause you ride that.
Tip of a Glacier
Bard is a combat class,
words are weapons when you’ve got class,
and daddy did raise a princess said
I’d never need to raise a hand
to end him where he stand, any man.
He asked me to be kind,
and I did learn at his knee all
about diplomacy. How to read
a room carefully as leaves
in a teacup.
But comes a time a promise made
amended, I think deep before
I speak, I’m no duelist me.
I’m an assassin.
Beware the Bright One
Hope, she’s a killer,
make no mistake,
she clears the field,
death strewn in her wake.
She wields Survival,
an obsidian blade.
Only who need her
can truly know
without destruction
there’s no room to grow.
No choice but to feel this,
no choice but to fight,
nothing but savage
through darkest of night,
you’re not just holding,
you’re advancing the line.
Only the strongest
thrive at her side.
Her eye is exacting
not easy to please,
come to her honest
if it puts you to knees.
She’ll take your last,
she’ll take it all,
find her and kiss her
if you have to crawl.
Warriors avail
her softer half,
his name is Desire,
and if you don’t bed him,
you’ll never reach higher.
A man of his senses,
all full with her roots,
all bodies fallen
get put to use.
No fear of censure,
no fear of blood,
no fear of fire,
lightning or flood,
no fear of tomorrow
that may never come,
no fear of failure,
with his love be one.
It won’t be pretty,
but we’ll turn things around.
It takes a messy bitch
to hold a bad bitch down.
Himself
Well here’s what you won’t learn in church,
for all there’s a hidden song binds the universe,
and maybe we’re mated pairs dispersed,
and this attraction’s a matter molecular structure,
whose bonds be most attuned with yours?
Perfection’s no technical term,
heaven’s just a state of mind,
pleasure in company with your own kind,
and maybe you’ll meet someone like,
oh it was you all along
all along,
and family’s every creature She calls home,
where care be taken if seed be sown,
beauty be courted where skill be honed,
for all we see is what’s owed Her.
Sacrifice.
A man should go to his woman
like he’s meeting his maker,
oh lesser tongues sure tried it first,
but your voice is casked honey and Mine Heart,
I’m well versed.
wyrdwind 