Controversies of a phallic belief

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…and now you believe you know my story
the controversies of your phallus ideology
fearing the void of a blood soaked page,
etched markings of scars left to age,
tear-less, these eyes lay dry
haunting the clouds of a melancholy sky.
choking life from collapsed veins.
memories of when the floods last came.
An empty vial, a constructed belief
an idiots guide to phallic relief.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on Pinterest

 

. . . and if raindrops were kisses.

All Alice/karen cox.... Alice in Wonderland

If seconds were miles you’d be only hours from me and kisses would be promises made sealed on lips made of love and eyes spiraling into the oceans depths of always.

If the ocean were only a puddle I’d wait bare foot in warm springs, mist carrying to me your smile on passions embrace our laughter dancing between the falling drops of time.

If time were linear and this dimension melded with another I would hand pick our time lines crossing our paths in ferocious braids, braids braiding into braids.

If loves true divinity is the marking of our spirits chaos, cyclonic
grains of sand will slip through oceans neck into the palms of open hands sealing dreams of old, paving dreams of new.

And if the miles were seconds I’d own your kisses, if the oceans were puddles you’d taste my laughter, if time were linear and dimensions crossed our paths…

But they are… entwined and in moments blessed the miles disperse into split atoms caressing the curve of my hip on your tongue as kisses taste of a love divine…

For our souls know nothing of miles only beats within the chest, fluttering rapidly.
Our souls know nothing of oceans or falling rain just the shared essence of hope. And perhaps deep within our psyche we are learning spiritual truths
on the unseen essence of love.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image found on Pinterest.

 

Seemingly bottomless.

Art Work of Alice in Wonderland <3 <3

Perhaps the fall is
like Alice’s hole,
seemingly bottomless,
lined with trinklets,
jars of memories, speckled
stars of hope,
freckled fragments of
love.
And storms, of course storms.
Hazardous hailstorms of despair raining down upon
Queen of tarts,
of hearts,
of tarts and hearts
and perhaps the
odd King hiding in the
recesses of time.
Maybe, falling in love is
like the mad Hatters tea party, chipped china,
pretty pastels,
cucumber sandwiches,
forever there, forever gone,
always coming and
never wrong.
For, there is always time for tea, always a tomorrow,
another cup,
good and bad,
It’s a given,
a promise of a brighter
day, a loving embrace within
the sweet liquid nectar.
And yes, there will be
mouldy bread, curdled milk,
Flies of destruction.
There will be sugar
thieves and odd concoctions,
but there will always be
tomorrow,
another tea party.
Yes, perhaps falling
in love is just like
falling into
Alice’s world.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image found on pinterest

Crimson Blush.

karenart

Your essence lays deep within my core,
my mind unquenched it begs me for more,
My spirit, chaotic has never felt so sure,
Of all our choices, I’m thinking all fours.

My skin searches always your touch
cheeks yearning for your crimson blush
An intense need that roams without rush,
A slave to desire and the erotic rush.

My eyes wander other realms to need,
to ponder the evolution of master’s feed,
to secure the taste essence of seed,
To taste liberation to be free.

I find you again at the core of my mind,
dark evolution, my wrists you do bind,
Kisses so soft, touch. . .of a kind,
this here lust that does burn,
Is yours and is mine.
It is yours and it is mine.
The whispers of need as
two souls entwine.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

Words and image.

Play as one upon the skies lustrous bed

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I sit beneath a clear infinite
sky, stars whisper in dancing echos
of twilights illuminated symphony.
I ponder beyond known space,
darkness that consumes all
the black that gives light.
Flesh gained value.
Kisses became intimacy.

I would dust you from my skin
If not for this new desire.
You give heart to fire.
Flames fuelling an ancient call
days of past etched scribblings
upon my soul, the shattered
remains of porcelain and
spilled milk, puzzle pieces
lost to Satan’s soldiers.

Yet, here I am, not yesterdays
Image or tomorrows dream.
Broken, yes and yet in your arms
my imperfect flaws play flawlessly
within your embrace, liberated
within this protective space.

In a world where I am nothing,
my worth scratched from
existence, I pause within
our self made Utopia knowing
here I am everything and something.

I listen to the stars symphony, love
twinkling on each note, desire
darkens the back drop, they play as one upon the skies lustrous bed
of infinite depth, dark gives way
to light and love becomes aflame
upon the devil’s carnal bite.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

Image found on pinterest