erotica poetica

I was a shape

that waits

to be carved

with a sculptor’s knowing hands,

emerging from alabaster white

into sharp relief,

bright scandalous technicolor,

cherries in the snow.

This is who I really am.

My breasts adorned with crystals,

my hips overflowing

from the curvaceous narrowing of my waist

into abundant fans of feminine plushness,

punctuated by a skimpy g-string of jewels;

I am everything

that I was never supposed to be:

a woman with power.

Glamour was a spell,

sensuality a witches brew.

I became a fashionable bitch

who walked the catwalk of her own shadow;

femme fatale.

I embraced the dark goddess

who lived inside me.

By the heat of my careful alchemy,

lines blurred between fantasy and reality,

dream and life.

Transformed,

I danced across the stage of life,

big energy, a woman writ large,

a high octane Sorceress

soaring like a star

through the heavens.