fire child
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 30, 2003
- Posts
- 143
My Indian lover,
...And in taking me, turning the spirits of my beloved people from me. None of them would behold this lawbreaking woman of the white world shame herself in the taking of a non-man into her body. Turned away, yet I can still see their tears, dry in an instant, for whom, but save one, would risk angering the forces of creation by mourning for a snarl toothed, heated bitch who could defile her would-be children's make-place with a red skinned, lowly, treacherous dog-he-be Cherokee. None... but one. The one of the band younger than many, yet still warrior in his youthful years. The one with the obsidian gaze and tall of leg, with black hair just so that the shadows of things came together beneath his brow, to live again, in a stare of oneness with Mother Earth. And this shaman sobbed in pure grief for the young girl, many years into her moon-let, yet still first woman. Unbearable seems the visions, yet what is not solid is not as readily felt as what is, and pleasures of the flesh cause the spirits to flee after being one second still to dwell in the mind of first woman. She sighs, as her lover's breath catches in ecstasy, yet she knows the spirits were a double blow, reminding her that pleasures of the flesh always came to an end, and being no longer first woman, shall cause agony and grief to all she touches, for the rest of her days.
Does any of that make sense?? It's part of something I'm working on, and frankly, it sucks. HELP!
...And in taking me, turning the spirits of my beloved people from me. None of them would behold this lawbreaking woman of the white world shame herself in the taking of a non-man into her body. Turned away, yet I can still see their tears, dry in an instant, for whom, but save one, would risk angering the forces of creation by mourning for a snarl toothed, heated bitch who could defile her would-be children's make-place with a red skinned, lowly, treacherous dog-he-be Cherokee. None... but one. The one of the band younger than many, yet still warrior in his youthful years. The one with the obsidian gaze and tall of leg, with black hair just so that the shadows of things came together beneath his brow, to live again, in a stare of oneness with Mother Earth. And this shaman sobbed in pure grief for the young girl, many years into her moon-let, yet still first woman. Unbearable seems the visions, yet what is not solid is not as readily felt as what is, and pleasures of the flesh cause the spirits to flee after being one second still to dwell in the mind of first woman. She sighs, as her lover's breath catches in ecstasy, yet she knows the spirits were a double blow, reminding her that pleasures of the flesh always came to an end, and being no longer first woman, shall cause agony and grief to all she touches, for the rest of her days.
Does any of that make sense?? It's part of something I'm working on, and frankly, it sucks. HELP!