Welling

These feelings,
wrapping wantonly,
like so many velvety fingering tentacles,
stroke my heart
to the point of a most pleasurable kind of pain.
A melancholic euphoria of darkly melded shapes,
chocolate colored textures,
and purple blossomed ever burgeoning landscapes.
I drift through this satiny weight,
ever so lithely,
running my softened fingertips lovingly
over every shade-lit orchid petal,
each shadow dusted fern frond in turn,
until I know them all by tender touched stroke,
by heady, earth bound scent.
I allow a turgid writhing
of expressed wallowing
in the heavy bountiful soil,
so darkly fertile and settled on the path
through this overcast garden of lushly tended treasures.
They riot and grow,
abundantly birthed of ranging hills,
undulating amidst a bruised sky that never fades.
Lingering breezes gust haphazardly,
ruffling my skirts
and caressing my hair,
playfully delighting in the way it falls,
so sinuously smitten,
through the vibrant electric air.
I am alone here,
but here I'm held the most complete,
ensconced within the heart of my heart,
the ultimate perception,
this aching brood of densely feathered emotions
that hold me aloft,
giving precious foundation
to my soul's boundlessly welling shape.

The Right to Receive

Yesterday, when I was coming to the end of my run I looked up and was surrounded by all the greenery of the trees. The quiet verdant leaves seemed to be tickling my heart, quietly insisting that I listen to the world around me. Then I heard a voice, a female voice, it was the mother in my head and heart.

She said that I am worthy of everything life has to offer me. To never forget that.  It was such a tender moment that I felt my entire being soften perceptively, and I felt so soft and lovely. I. Am. Worthy. Of. Everything. Inhale, exhale, ingest, expel all of those dirty dusting pretty things that come into my path and life for a reason, for a lesson, for a choice.