Divination.

My beloved,
your fragrant spirit seduces my soul,
sending it soaring through the
sun-kissed sky.

I dance intoxicated,
bathing in your beauty.
At whose feet shall I prostrate
in appreciation?

Whose ears have earned praise
for placing your hand in mine?
I sail six, and seventy seas on a whim,
chasing rumours you are an island.

Twirling towards ecstasy,
tumbling over my attraction;
coasting on caresses that
collide into me.

I locate you inside
the canvas where
my subconscious
paints its dreams.

Behold the broken shards
which I clumsily pieced together
craving comfort;
they come crashing down.

Awestruck by the sight
of your crystalline containment.
Sparkling, your eyes lead me
on a journey into your mystery.

That is where I locate your appeal;
it brandishes me in blessings.
Hark! Herald angels sing
your heart's songs.

They reveal all your secrets
which somehow replenish
ensuring you always remain
an anomaly.

An enigmatic Madonna-like muse,
innocent as the allure
of virgins;
devoid of sin.

Carried away, I stumble,
over my own two eager feet,
eternally racing in your direction,
until I faint, complete.

Whether you stare into my skin,
or scream at me in starry silence,
I stutter from
your sensuality.

I lose my sense of self.
Soothe my seething sorrows,
your touch enough
to heal my aching pain.

Possess my pores
with your pleasures,
wrap yourself
inside my blissful sighs.

I am enhanced by
your obfuscation
inveigled, sensation is
now worth celebrating.

Survivor.

Pink orchids stand guard by the window
on this sombre Sunday morning,
silently expressing their sympathy,
like sorrow's sullen soldiers.

Today, this day, no visits were paid,
for all she craved was solitude.
Long gone are the fleeting moments;
time so rarely used.

Sighs filled every corner
of this solitary room,
staining the wallpaper yellow;
clouding the air with gloom.

Remnants of stickers marked with names
remain affixed to the heavy door;
reminders of her sisters,
who had suffered through this before.

Initially, her diagnosis
stole her femininity,
until she persevered, survived,
and resilience reclaimed her dignity.

One's body is not the sole testament
to their womanhood,
their experiences scream louder than
superficial features ever could.

Meditation.

Buddha's students followed closely,
careful not to miss a single word;
they listened ever so intently,
as he regaled them with the sermon of the bird.

"My children," he said, "you mustn't forget 
what happens when one falls in love with the nightingale's song,
they clip their wings, surrounding them in flightless sorrow 
then foolishly question what is wrong."

"Everything is impermanent, 
as you should already know, 
thus, we must admire the beauty 
of our surroundings with joy and gratitude.

Yet, take heed, and do not seek 
to possess that which you do not already own,
for you may permanently alter its state
or even worse, affect its mood."