What became of the lady in black? Who scrawled her name in ruby red lipstick all over the mirror in the moonlight? The lady who was to become a woman within, her sleek black body suit and modest crop disguising a deep, hidden beauty. Her eyes are alluring in the shadows, but she has been banished from grace. By dark, she will charm all who became her. Touch me then. x x x
The dew drops, x x the mould breaks, and I am one in the seasons. I change like the wind, I move with the water, from the dearest bluebell in spring to the last snowflake in winter. Gone is any logic, and sense ration will not suffice to express in heartfelt words more than heartbeat to be can be expressed in body and soul. I have ever felt over the past 18 months a sheer loneliness and an ache heartthrob more than my mother might tell, for the lamp might be hidden underneath a table but will anyone above and below the fiery towers of this table notice should the flame be extinguished? For the lights of the hall are not on and the Devil will pay His price in the face of adversity. For I am not alone. As one in the body as I am in the mind, purely a woman. In shape and in form, my hips and back will never feel the warmth again and it's something I've finally accepted in my deepest heart of hearts. I move with the seasons, the drift of the evergreens moving out into the west beyond home and heartland. My breasts are the pages of an open book. My hair shawn short in the mourning wake of an unearthly, otherworldly rude awakening. My lips are chapped like stone. My eyes are washed up seals, their mirages barring out of sight other faces to greet. My hair, makeup and waxworks are ruined! God forbid, should anything come to one another woman. Slowly, dignified I don my shawl and cover up any part of me that might be exposed to another of saved grace. For fate can be unkind and lips can be deceiving. The vase breaks in the fall and I'm in a garden of mystery and intrigue. The vines creep delicately around my form as I venture on into the mist and face forwards. A man. A father. A brother. A husband. Many facets of one being contribute to an augmented whole. As whole in bodily love as the actions of the sum of its parts. A lamp within a lamp. A radiant glow from within. The birds may flock but their food is left uneaten, ravished and weary. My baby girl is away in the floods learning the art of music. And my son, where art thou? Gone from my breast. I wouldst though climb the mountain and experience the treasures I might find up there but do I dare touch the mould? Do I dare adventure myself in the world again? As eternally a woman, as body as one within the other, heart within heart and words within lips? This is my globe. Will I ever learn to love, again? X x x
Hayda Loral longest time sweety pops! x ❤️ heart love
Oh quosch posch malloy!
x the choco pops are all over the table, on the work surface and on the floor
And on my dress. x x
Better get the dogs to clean them up. xx
Jams come in an all manner of flavours, colours, textures and tastes, and are a wonderful way of preserving fruits through the long cold winters. x Now that we are into september, it's worth thinking about the ways and comforts by which one will keep the body going through the short, dark days.
My mother specialises in jams à la provence, and uses a variety of exotic pectins and gelling agents that needn't cost the Earth, but make for a wholesome conserve. x
You too could try it at home. x Go out into the meadows and fields beyond and select yourself some fine specimens, bundle them into a wicker basket and peach them into a pot, ready for the boil. xx
It's a wonderful way to refresh and invigorate yourself, spread on toast or drizzled through runny rice puddings and other such sweet delights. x x Lick your lips and let your tastebuds be tantalised. x Juicylicious! ❤️ xxx
Here we are again at the beginning of fine may. x x the grasses are blowing wistfully in the spring breeze and the flowers are in full bloom.x how lovely ❤️
It's spring, time to turn your room around, x time for a fresh start, to rejuvenate your life, your tired old lips, or perhaps a new hair cut might be the way that the desired. x
Open the windows wide and let the fresh air permeate your pores and unleash your inner radiance to ALL AND SUNDRY! x x
and what better way to celebrate than the 2014 ❤️Eurovision Song Contest ❤️x
I know which country I'll be waving the flag for. x
I ❤️ LOVE ❤️ plums. x
They're juicy, firm and plump. x x x
x On the contrary, I don't like the coarse, rounded stones you find in the middle of them.
Sorry dear, x I'm a director. x I'm not allowed to give my number out. x company policy! xxx ❤️
I have a husband and two darling childeren who I will mother dearly until love's identity tells me to stop. ❤️
As my co-director says,
"You'll have to whittle" x Do-lar ! x
Love is all around ❤️ you can see it in the trees and on the stiles. x
Love for your neighbour is the highest form of love in its non-bodily essence. x To feel keen for someone you know is a blessing one must cherish.
But romantic love, now, that's a very different kind of love. x
It can only be returned if the person dost thou bequeetheth. x x Or feels equally fondly towards the beholder. x
Otherwise, the beholder must plough on, sowing the seeds for future possibilities with other generous bodies. x ❤️ x
Touch me then. x x
My dress fell off mid-flight on the swivel chair and now I've spilt coffee all over the table and on the floor. xx
Ar well, better knock off for lunch I suppose.x x
Out of all the many beautiful things in nature, none is more alluring, mystical and compelling as
The human form. x
Its defining posture and undulating curves reveal a hidden beauty, shrouded in veils of secrecy and erotic mysticism.
x The hips curve, the arching spine, a heartbeat outside one's own ❤️I again recite this mantra from the Old Abbey Manuscripts,
And swear an oath for the Corinthians x
That my body be one day delivered and blessed in an all manner of ways, unearthly and untouchable,
One might strike up a chalk-pen and roughly sketch its curves,
But the curves will never be perfect,
For the pencil be an emulation of nature, of God's fine hand xx
Take a picture and put it in the window,
Trace the curves with your fingers,
Savour in the delight of your sights,
The body. x x
Preparing the pairs for the birthdays of the two men in my life.
What might I gift them? x What would you give your son and husband?
Answers on a postcard please. xx
Simon Hutagalung good luck to you
I have had many journeys in life, and my passions have taken me a long way. x Now I am ready to reveal all, for I am one in the body and the body is one in me. x The hips curve, the arching spine, a heartbeat outside my own. In these lie absolution. x I again repeat the Old Abbey Manuscripts.
Beyond the body, the curves of a woman, both in body and visage, reveal a history and a tenderness that cannot be re-sculpted by the vase. xx whole-bodied, unspoilt and natural, if you trace the lines of nature, they will lead you into unexpected places, fresh gardens of forbidden fruits and bountiful fountains, abundant in the joys of life. x x
If you look further, through the looking class, you realise that a woman's visage, beneath the lipsticks, makeups and foundations, reveal a strength, glossed in the She of the wellbeing femme. ❤️
Slap that on your platter and slosh down with a dunkety-dunk of wine, salt and oil, and you have all the makings of a perfect princess. x
Anyway, that is me, in a nutshell. x How would you describe yourself.? x x
Touch me then,
Princess of the River & Sea. Alchemical Initiate of Ether.