Wildflower 'neath a
     giant weeping willow,
         comforted by the shade
  her fragrance wafting darkly
      whispered into the wind ~
   she'd been 'betrayed by the sun',
frail tendrils blistered
     of indiscretion below
            burning discrimination,
   fallen neath the cracks
        suffocating a delicate essence,
she could no longer bear the
   deep-rooted superficiality  
         of seeds buried within *****
                    little implanted secrets

i never heard of the golden ratio
or any of the beauty's rules
was in love with her in one go
needed no measuring tools.

i fell in love not with her look
with the proportions on her face
i didn't go by any rule book
just loved her in her wholeness.

never cared if her lips had a pout
the distance between her eyes
the length between her eyes and mouth
i was lucky not being that wise.

a feeling sparked in the core of mind
in my eyes she settled as a star
her attraction though was undefined
i fell in love with her.

The abyss is my realm,
there, furthest,
where all light lives
to taint black my being.

There, in deep dark,
a tantric hiss
scales my harmony,
my core longs.

Here, amongst you,
my locks, my wings,
all veiled, eons
concealing my search.

And he finds me.
He faces me.
I gift him my blood
and shield his sail.

His sword is sheathed,
he looks into the faraway.
In his eyes, I wait for
his voice to tell my core.

Funny moments.
Sitting and thinking about rabbits jumping around on sunny banks.
The children chuckle as they watch them.
Shush children, you'll scare them away.
It's pure natural love watching animals at play.
The dog's getting excited.
You crouch behind her, you don't want her to scare the bunnies away.
Strangely they're oblivious to our presence.
I guess they must be used to us.
A kind of relationship dynamic.
It's as if they recognise us from yesterday.
We left them some crisp carrot tops.
Maybe that's why they trust us.
A loud voice booms out from behind us..one they're not familiar with.
"You coming home love?"
He waves his air rifle, menacingly.
Perhaps he fancies, rabbit pie!
Not on my watch, that's for sure.
Run little rabbits, run.
He's not a farmer, but he sports a gun.
They scarper back into their warren.
Post haste.
Phew!
(C) LIVVI