As to this harvest:
Your name tills my fertile field
plummeting deep into the earthen core of my heart
turning this silence of organic surrender
into the proud and patient
seedling of enduring
love
.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 26 April, 2017
My second sight
is now accustomed
to washing the stains
of misshapen understanding
from the elk horn
of your bound leather axe
plunged deeply into
the heart that continues
to love you: mine
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 25 April, 2017
I forgive you
for not wanting
to spoil the darkness
that consumes you
with the love I bring
but surely
the toll for dishevelment
is worth the expense
to climb out
of its jaws
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 25 April, 2017
we were pointless once;
that is to say
we were always in growth
and there was never a time
when what we had would stop
to be what we
‘had’
our map didn’t come with
those flags to pin and say
– this is us –
or
– we are here –
we were the whole map
we were every map
and then we weren’t
now we are no longer pointless;
we are ‘that point’
the marked X
(without the treasure)
the one that simply says
– here –
and my heart is this map
and it is pierced and leaking
and all that it contains
will run like ink
across the world
our red flag standing on end
and flying alone
to remind me
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 22 April, 2017
Love is not being second priority on a list.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 20 April, 2017
He said those words
I can’t
and my heart fell out of its pocket
like there was a hole in my
chest and
that very last stitch
heard him speak
Our mobius strip
lay suddenly flattened
– I on one side and he on the reverse
like destiny and distance
were the same bridge
too destroyed to gap
Now I want life to end
as I lean down to hold
what’s left in my lungs
my final breath leaving as
I fall beyond the edge where
by some miracle
this leap of faith might save me
and I am captured by the arms
that wait beneath
– my fate finally showing its purpose
until the only strip that remains
is the one where
we remove each other’s clothing
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 April, 2017
The free are simply surrounded by ignorance; the truly free, bound by love.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 8th March, 2017
Her honey’d hole a wet, wet dream,
her liquid gold a silky stream where
sliding thrusts were mounted, hot,
and arching bodies dared not stop;
where moments flowed into the next
and both were drowned in comfort sex
and eyes were riding each one’s soul:
his quest for freedom her only goal
And rather than come up for air
this fiery passion sank them there,
(as both an anchor, ‘twined like rope,
and locked in pelvic gyroscope)
her swollen thighs around his waist,
her nails embedded, tongues embraced
and fishing for that final taste
with every touch, in every place
Fused as one with melting cores,
(her curling toes demanding more)
his urgent need to plunge her rightly
sealed them closed with hearts bound tight, and
all around them
walls of water washed their sins
in quickening waves that locked them in
with swats and spanks
and gentle yanks and saucy stares
while skin to skin and hand to soaking hair
Like rolling tide to rocky shore,
(her legs thrown wide, his pelvis sore)
the crash and grind of karmic ties
were deep explored and fast revived
– with whispered greed they came alive –
awash with dirty un-restraint and
thrived, un-reined, with fate to blame,
their pulsing needs through every vein,
infused as one and charged by same:
her wild release on which he came
an ocean, calling out her name
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 10 January, 2017
Magnetic vision,
quite the purpose for searching:
two hearts finding one.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 13 October, 2015
Crawl to hungry arms:
inside, the love that builds dreams.
Taste the chance to fly.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 16 October, 2015
It slips,
this new surrender,
past the rusted locks
and caution signs
and crumbling roads
of cul-de-sacs
and vacant lots
and open tracks
to freedom;
where conundrums play
and secrets huddle
and bodies lie
and youth decays,
retired past expired days
Engraved in time,
cocoons and shells
and nests are hung
and quartered for a chance at love;
the way ahead,
receding,
half behind
and part enslaved
(a mask of promise worn from birth to lucid grave)
And,
like an avalanche,
it falls in quick pursuit,
this multiverse of
filthy guise
– of liquid paths and dangerous eyes –
and ruby coloured blushing cheeks;
where every lover’s
heart of sponge or stone
descends to meet . . .
heating,
for another touch
beneath the fraying sheets
And all the while
in rush and glory,
time,
undressing moments
as it passes, flies away –
manifest instead as flesh,
(again)
with wings that only beat
to re-transcend
and scar
and mend in
pounding,
swollen,
rhythms,
c
l
a
w
i
n
g
for the warmth of smothered distance:
roaring
for a welcome end
So,
spaced between
the tics
and tocs
of darting pain
and thrusting cocks,
of cunts aroused, abused, and shamed,
a silence, near, deploys again
the ever caged
and emptied song
and lusting shame
of mouths and tongues,
inclining, fast at last
to go
from whence it came
to soak the mind
and strip the soul
and blur the lines
of time and toll,
buried,
in surrender, whole
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 21 July, 2015
You could be made of
the fanciest yarn that
binds forever
your empty space
and you would still
knit me a reason
to love everything
you were actually not
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 4 July, 2014
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 18 January, 2013
This icecream love
– sweet –
and filled with cold desire,
drips
through the hole
in my sugared cone.
The very thing
that holds my love within,
is now partaking
in the letting go
of its own
contents.
Much to my despair.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 20 May, 2012
Some of us
Melt like snow
On a warm morning
Others freeze
At the chance of love
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 August, 2011
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 19 July, 2011
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 25 February, 2012
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 25 February, 2012
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 26 June, 2010
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 16 September, 2011
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 2 December, 2011
Concurrent sessions of geometric,
(explicitly whimsical)
liquified squares
arose from patterned nether regions
of ‘somewhere else out there’
in smothering particles of
truest radiant flares.
And sat I upon the visible dreamscape space
that existed no-where
but outside of my illusory plan,
and cherished, I, the pictorial preempted
in the moment of my after-life birthing
of which polite demand
again beseeched me ride.
Yet not a one of the graphical displays
(filtered fresh from infinite dimensions)
approached me like a complete whole
– neither a partial whole –
but as a synchronistic sphere
of clouded systemic rumours
made to halt to keen attention
but one light-bodied and mirrored virtual soul
such as the sporadically alter-egoed I.
Flowing from one source to the next,
beyond the simple measure of a single point
a blast of knowing flagged a recognition spark
that folded time and space
betwixt one universal structure
unto the
(not unlike symbiotic)
self instructioned mind –
and so to Mind Exist described another route
for Love to spread It’s fastest cycle;
birthing cells and growing rife,
to yield a fresh creation.
And hereupon I watch/ed with hunger
that which transpired time before,
providing what is harnessed now,
with will to still repeat again,
and so again to knot forever
into chains of new momentum;
weaving,
waving,
slipping through and marking too,
another path to God.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 June, 2009
If I could depict the substance of my heart,
this mass of space (this massive room!)
would brand a masterpiece of perfect art.
If I could write,
the composition would neither start nor end:
the meaning lost on tongues of lovers.
Yet, spoken soft or written proud
your name would glow its fame out loud;
expression shining strong and sound.
If I could activate emotion,
unhindered,
I would sway in craze;
but movement knows not this commotion.
Impeded,
but just,
with solitary devotion,
I mind the thoughts.
In silence I thrill.
I love you still.
© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 11 July, 2003
