Carry On


Above all, I will remember the discussions of Kundera; admonition on the difference between understanding feminism and being pc; the contrast of stillness to a sharp awakening; the quest to put admirable lessons into the memories of our muses.

And at my end, the hope for pews full of know-ers who have spent time and words with my head and heart over the many years, will bring no one comfort.

I will remember to never settle for less than a knee-weakening kiss.

I will remember the the awareness of how little I knew, once.

And I walk on, committed to authentic living, without causing needless pain.


It is a false prize to keep count the notches- unless we call them lovers and they see themselves as such. 


#For Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.




Bach-Cello Suite No.1


Music: take me back to that man in a tuxedo,  that man with skilled fingers,  and to the way that man held my face, in those hands. Oh, he could make women do, things, with that mouth of his.

Memories: rush back, race over and over in my most awake states, or in those quiet moments when thinking stops.  Rise up, life lived, to the present, those touches not lost, never wasted, moments seized and willed into existence, carved inside my hungry head.

Mind: flood my whole self, remind me how he could overtake my hesitation… that fervent side sweep to the left and signature lower lip-tug ending, this intimate partnering and tasting, so very critical to this woman, that crazy gift he carried in his kiss.

She pushes aside how much she misses them to focus on her pride in pursuing and capturing them, this treasure, this experience of him, all tucked away, in a place where her mind freely revisits, whenever she wishes.


# for Reticent Mental Property



She attended the fundraiser, alone, last evening.

She willingly inserts herself into the room. A room filled with generosity, like-minded givers.  And men.  Men wearing suits.  Some step aside, unable to meet her eyes, some engage with a handshake and kind words. Hers is a familiar and welcoming face, heart open to a good cause and an attitude inspiring dancing even in cerebral settings. 

She knows he would have been proud to have been by her side, with her, present, through the long evening, hand on the small of her back, as she works the room, easily taking over the place.

She scans the male scenery, touching some on the shoulder, all the while glancing at fingertips, and the curve of the palm, the bend in the thumb, breathing. 

It is always the same, the natural order of her mind, to taste with her eyes  the hands. Hands with long fingers, raised veins roping across the backs, the tendons flexing, then taut,  hands she has learned are skilled in conversing without words.  These drive her to distraction.

She is drawn to one male who silently raises glass, in toast fashion, sharing his beautiful fingers wrapped around the bowl, confidently allowing his smile to reach his eyes when she braces herself,  lifts her chin, and accepts his appraising attention.

He is the one she allows to take her in, standing taller as his eyes sweep downward, from throat to hip, and she knows his gaze lingers on the back of her neck, as she turns away, a measured smile upon her lips, held in check, but then released as she transforms it into laughter and idle banter, the compliment safely absorbed to her core, amidst the polite chatter and din.

She is alone, and his hands feed her mind. 

# for Reticent Mental Property