Poetry / From the Fog

From the fog
I've woken to find myself riding
the white horse of clarity
into the mists of Avalon
where I had dreamed of a boy
in men’s clothing, much like the wolf
molding fairy tales
As I emerged
eyes still wet and mucky
laying limp from weariness
through my hair covered eyes
I mumbled that I was still in love
Not for long he said
his steadfast belief that I was the one
I was led by the reigns as I watched
him unfold my delusions to reality
a river of conundrums
bridges of fearlessness
every single day
proceeded and his strategy slow
dumfounded by such assurance
of a complete conviction
showing me a mirror
for proof of his understanding
thus allowing my birds
of freedom to be released
nakedly aware
eyes locked at every chance
somehow knowing
we are for each other’s growing
our coming out of war
still spent
still virginal
his 37 years of treacherous miles
and my 41 flavors of sacrifice
and threatening sorrow
finally
no words left unsaid
our submission newly born
saviors from each other’s flaws
comfortably helpless and exposed
ready and electrically willing
my whims are his delight
his anticipation for every expression
his jack of all trades master of all

maker of unconquerable kingdoms

a carnival of paints

upon erotic slates of canvas

our needs to exchange and express

our willingness to dominate and submit

a nurturing dance of wit and empathy

beyond limits of convention
constant events of exploration
miles of compatibility,

towers of music
of reading, of sensual gastronomy
plastered in mosaic magic
for the rest of our days
in any way that fits
fear is dying fast
sharing women
sharing men
only together
from him to me
the kind of trust
of Alien superiority
a mind in the loins of lust
his gift is his encouragement
his offering of sensory toys
toys of musical poetry
promises that are kept
for my talent
to record
my experience
into something
to share
so that others who are smothered
do not feel alone
as I have been feeling
forever it seems
from one fog to
the next
the chapters dark and light

always on the edge

fighting for self preservation

while the search for love

tears at the pages

and tares too

paper cuts of trial and error

as the unfolding of stories

the epic journey beams hope

made in the warm sunlight patches

in this Forrest of fermenting ambrosia

still leading me on his white horse of clarity

gently guiding ourselves from virginity to obscurity

to the halls of our kingdom

where he intends to make me queen

of my own inner capacity

no longer a chastity
for my loving is
meant for a world free from fog
and I thank him for his
love that is awakening my
long lost soul.