I would be the wind answering
to her beckon to lift silken strands from too warm neck and caress my intent
along softly scented skin. I would be fire, flickering
her shadow in homage across the walls of the cell she keeps herself within
until even she would have to see her form kissed by light as I paint her
against her own self containment. I would be the earth beneath
her feet if she would but walk me and of my essence partake until mind
and soul remembered how to smile again. Ah, but all that pales. I would be water, liquid
essence “born” just to please her.
If she twists the brass to
turn on the tap, my consciousness drifts towards hers once more. If she adds beads of jasmine
and oil of almond, I know colour no matter how faint, flavour no matter
how sweet, and aroma lightly filtering through my essence as I am permeated
by her command. I rise in tendrils of steam
to reach for her as she steps near. I beckon with desire mingled
between her thoughts and mine as the whisper of her dreams I hear. I watch her every move. I
feel her gaze as her mind puts away the finish of a day. I watch her fingertips trace
that which I know is my path along her consciousness as each synapse registers
the briefest flutter of our shared touch. Layers dissolve until before
me she stands in purest form.
Leaning over she breathes
me in while her fingers finalize the circuit as she tests water’s temperature
for readiness. As her hand stirs me to a
swirl of aromatic incandescence I feel the circuit complete. Even as she steps in and
lowers herself into the fluidity of my embrace the “ahhhhhmmm…” is a mutual
utterance. I feel the blend of her spirit
with mine and the completion is almost too much. Each curve knows my caress. Each finger glides through
me until nothing is left untouched as searching hands glide in shared essence
over satin skin. I would be the air wrapped
round her in her night as she dreams of me again.
How I came to be I may never
know. It is as if one morning I opened my eyes and I simply was.
As time passes with little measure I pause and force myself to remember.
No longer can a more firm form I bring to mind’s eye. Years pass adrift
in hazy mist that caresses as if a warm wet ardent lover seeking one of
its own to enfold. But I am more than mist. Now and then I feel a
gripping tug reaching for that which I once was and the lure pulls me closer
to the surface I drift above. Once I spread my form liquid
thin and coated as far as I could reach, seeking a point of penetration
to allow me to seep back in. None I could find. Yet as the eons span I
find an occasional pull as if an invitation is extended, yet I know not
how to respond. It has never reached in this far, touched this deeply,
or gripped my unknown center with such tenacity before. I feel the beckoning
call pulling from below. Do I dare answer? Oh, if there is still that,
do I dare not?
The room is subdued,
steam rises from the clawed porcelain bath as a servant fills it. A brush
lay bristles upwards on the dressing table of pale cream. Her hair, white
golden streams of brushed satin gleams in the candle flickers.
Her hands lift the gown, slide
the silk over a form that remains, even as summers pass, supple and firm.
Her hands lift up the glistening tresses over the collar and release them
over shoulders just barely covered. Violet eyes turn towards the reflective
glass which covers nearly the wall of her bedchamber.
"Vanities own you are, beauty
of ice and warmth of reflection."
She see's all around herself
and still there is chill where there should be brilliant warmth. The sensitive
balls of her fingers against the cool of the glass, she touches her reflection.
All the light that is bestowed through touch and command, does not warm,
can not disuage the emptiness that hollows out her core and laughs at her
reflected beauty.
She looks into the depths
of the mirrored reality and still sees the whispered faded portrait of
what never was. Lips never speak a name nor do eyes see the curve of jaw.
Still, her name she hears upon the hinted dawn, a voice never diminished
by time or choice.
"I am Sanerium of the House
of Rose. Daughter of Light . . . and mother of the Trianthem, and still,
I am not wholly woman."
“You burn? You know nothing
of burn until you live wanting to die…seeking even the chill of another
plane to temper a mixture of angst and heat into a meld found at least
bearable.” The words cross my mind, but
choke me rather than be born as an utterance she might hear. I have no desire to hurt her.
I sense the sorrow and the yearning as surely as I once knew my own. Watching her move, the anger
carried for years melts away. It seems such a futile waste of emotion as
I stand aching to touch her once more. To silvered surface I step,
knowing that the soft radiance of her candlelit room will allow her to
see the shift of form behind coolness of glass. “See me my Lady of the Dawn.” I seek not to startle her...
Ribbons of color and
of soul I knew. Beings that were existent but unembodied I spent my days
amongst. This was not the same. This was something else altogether. My
eyes opened to look at my reflection. I hungered to watch the want in my
eyes melt into satisfied response. There was silence and I was alone, until
I looked past my own face into the shimmering reflection. Form not my own
whispered a name.
Such a name I'd not allowed voice
for an eternity it seemed. Every nerve was alive with it. Ash.
Silvered Soul
“Grace walketh in the forest her tall lithe form with a silver halo and gentle aura draped in sheer silver silk.” Your wandering knight marks Thine’s progress by roses blooming In filigreed ivory amorettes from thorns prior to thine passing.
This knight would’st thee approach with courtesy in all manner of chivalric virtue, ne’er thine name to disparage.
To be worthy thine accolades this knave must so aspireth as thine chain of fealty doth this gallant knight errant lureth link by silvered link to thine chalice which doth with kindred kindness overflow. Wouldest but that body be more noble than soul, thine indulgence he doth request and in humbled homage pay thee with this rusty relic of life worn sentient within.
Draped in silvered lunar glow She walks as Grace, her carriage of noble virtue born of an ancient silvered
soul with haloed head held high.
... with your name upon my lips and your heartbeat in my ear. Succulent morsels of scented sleep the fast breaking meal of my morn. Fingers still curled in my hair from the nights passions play moistness warming me from shared pinnacles ascension. A lost eyelash upon my cheek whose color isn't mine pillow soft as morn's first light tells the tale stillness brought. Slowly pulling apart upon days reveille lingering with the nightingale's song promises of another meeting when daylight is once more gone. Secret smiles to greet the day warmth held jealously inside till another filling comes again from your welcoming bedside.
Sanerium Rose to her Ashtanon '00
While lifting the handle of flourished
brush to the chill surface, around my wrist seven pearls glistened. Each
iridescent glimmer offered its will in submission. Seven words heard I,
and seven answered.
"Come to me my Knight of Dusk"
"Minions of light, paint for
me pearls of shadowed past." The words commanded while my heart trembled.
How daring was I? How unwise to unleash the deepest passions of elements
fusion. Outside of my room a clap of thunder followed a flash of radiance.
Splashed against slick pane the tears of eons came together in their display
of abandon.
My scalp tingled with the memory
of this very brush within beloved fingers used. Strokes of leisure spoiled
and pampered to high luster luxurious strands.
The sixth pearl on the arm of
grace glimmers iridescent like a signal post guiding me near. Murmuring
in the tongue of wind swept sirens beckons me to the brink of the yawning
abyss she calls me to fill. That which once was hangs like the fullness
of fruit on the tree in the garden of eternal joy. Tempting. Forbidden.
If my soul seeks ensilage, she
will be lost to me once more. If I negate caution after due warning and
reach to assuage the hunger within, will I find desire’s belly full and
the chalice of soul emptied by benefit of her own chasm’s longing?
Somehow I know even if the answer
will desecrate my being, to her call I will hark. No other option can I
abide. Insatiable as the need for release once was, the desire for the
velvety constrictions she offers sounds like maternal lullaby crooning
to sleep the words of warning whispering in my mind.
Sanerium, call. I will come.
The sky had been the
color of milk, the trees avocado green. Ashtanon and I had spent wonderful
days and luxurious nights together until the night he slipped the pearl
circlet around my wrist.
I had failed. He was not the
one I was sent here for I was informed. The ancient one himself spoke softly
to my ear, his breath all that I could sense of him. "No my child, there
is another. This is not to be." My heart bled as I lifted his parchment
and tears stained it as I left it upon his pillow. There was another.
I had found then, Roberus. Within
the week we were wed. My life here had begun, but not without the memories
of a life beyond this gravitational pull.
I was immediately with child.
Roberus mother, Krystal, had tended me for the shielding. There was not
a singular child, but a duo. I bore the embryos of both the mortal world,
and the world of shadows.
Two daughters, Two fathers. Krystal
knew, but she was the only one. I had told none. Krystal had taken Ava,
Ashtanon's daughter, and raised her as her own.
Perhaps now it was time for a
reckoning to allow the girl to understand who she was, and why she had
lived her life. . . in the shadows.
I touched my wrist,
the pearl glistened there. Fined boned was I and the delicate mist colored
material I was swathed in was both comfortable and flowing.
I felt like a girl and yet there
was a richness there that made my determination solid. Ashtanon was my
future. I breathed in several times, my eyes closed as I spoke the words
my heart nearly shouted.
"Come to me my Prince of Shadow"
Come to me my prince of shadow.”
Gauzy layers slide beneath my touch as my transition
completes.
“Ash.”
My name she whispers, then calls with familiarity
of a voice growing stronger as determination breathes desire into her own
intent. A silvered angel she stands as behind her I find myself beckoned.
Granted form by the seventh pearl along slender wrist, my essence around her wraps.
