Did intrigue kill the cat too?

Is intrigue like
curiosity?
Is the cat taken
to slaughter
as she paws
at tender thoughts?
Will she be hung
drawn and
quartered
for the mouse
that wasn’t
caught?

Perhaps intrigue
Is gentler,
has an essence of
English rose
Whimsical fairies
dancing between
daffodil toes
in the mornings
sea mist.. that
kisses blush
lips…

But what if she be
the cat
of death that calls
through peeking eyes
of intrigue and
turquoise skies
as noose tightens
nine lives
lightened as
blood smears axe
as curiosity attacks…

So then if curiosity
be’s not the fate
of ole girl Ginger
as she paws through
the curse of black
mist that licks
at her mind
in the devils light
then, it can only be…

the kiss of white
mist, penetrating night
on thoughts of days
long lingered
whilst curiosity
may have
killed the cat..
Intrigue…
stirs her
primal call
from slumber

Karen Hayward ©2018

My Goddess of the night

Do you see her,
my goddess ruling
the night skies,
an inferno of energy
surging through my veins…
I am one,
whole,
the fires of pure need
rise within me
as her blue embrace
caresses the lost
embers of my spirit.

She has woken
her light reigns
down upon Gaia
Pearlescent tears of
purity giving life
within the ascending
beats,
my Goddess,
do you feel her?
She rises within each of us,
tickling the inner sanctuary
of our soul
Waking us from
eternal slumber…
She is the essence
yin,
succubus,
goddess and elemental…

My twilight love
dancing across stars
skipping through darkness
Winged horses
draw forth her
silver chariot
as she swims
through the
Celestial
oceans…

Blessed are those
who tonight will see
my queen bleed
crimson hues eclipsed
in a moments
ethereal beauty.
Blessed are those who
feel without sight,
her energy-their life
force… Blessed are
those who rise in
the blue hues
of Selene’s
glorious
night skies.

Do you see her?
My Goddess rising
to rule her
Queen-dom
Do you feel her?

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

A symphony of love…

A tune so subtle,
melodious energy
igniting in each note,
Twirling a tango,
Willing a waltz
the clumsy stepping
of my whimsical
soul, bells
ringing to Pans beat.
A rhythm
of ancient telling
Lust rising,
love swelling.
And his soul knows my tune,
whistles a perfect song
Plays my body like a flute,
fingers teasing,
Lips caressing,
tongue defining…
And he is the drummer
My skin, his instrument
He beats in rapid strokes
A deep chorus of pleasure
Spilling across atoms..
And he is the saxophone
songs of old dancing
among raindrops
as the moon kisses
my skin…
And he is the song
the beat,
the rhythm
the silence
the rise the fall…
For he is the one
that knows
the ancient
composition
of my soul..
He is my
symphony
of love,
my piano music
Ebony and ivory
in perfect
unison.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

… His words taste like the outer corners of lust, coveted by dark shadows. A curse of black mist rising in me. If I am the succubus then he is my master, puppeteering my desire, fingering my needs to his command. His touch is the black leather choker at my slender neck. His voice the liberating echo of passion that lubricates my strings….and in his eyes is the promise of a million kisses, each one new, deep, purposeful. Each kiss overflowing with lust, each kiss a binding promise of trust, each kiss an exchange of power… And if I am his succubus, a vessel of need then he is my master and from him alone I feed, for there in his kisses, his touch and his eyes, is an abundance of love filling my skies.

Karen Hayward ©2018