Love Without Mirrors

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Love without Mirrors

The lovers tussle can become ingrown
devoid of faith, entangled in stories
without a mirror in sight
we two become a carnivorous mouth

she dances through the bony air –
like a hungry child
frothing at the scent of affirmation;
glistening off of destitute eyes
– the very sight of it –
a taste that all cast away hearts lust for.

If she could be a small thing, for just a while
she would live on the inside of him
for a moment
where decadence, meets defiance
and lays to rest
where time meets, complete silence
she is free to digress

-but you are not the home she seeks-


He, stretched marked and inflated
tired and furious
wolves beaten into subservience
a token for his eternal trespass
bound by blood and habit
he begs “please, make me whole again”

If he could be a hero, just for a moment
riding into the sunset, shameless
without consequence,
humanity cast to the wind, needing nothing
only passion and glory
and an exaggerated story
immortality at livings cost

-But you are not the damsel he craves-

You are lovers & together the maw rumbles
still hungry
repelled by the faithfulness
of seeing each other.
May you find your home,
in those that circle your waltz
those that hold space
in-between it all, to memorialize love.
to live beyond being food and conjure shared vision

These mirrors feed
beyond the beloved’s hand you hold
they bare witness to such nexus
the soul-storming steadfast village
that begs to awaken.
If you choose to chase the memory
of how we could be
love may become liberated
and truly be free

recoiled, in their own resounded rapture.
They may inspire, too powerful
to shudder and grovel
any longer

“In deep partnership – home is not found in the other person, but the willingness to make home together in the world” – Love Without Fear

-ac/mh

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Canada

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Happy 150th birthday, right.

In my opinion
one cannot have a birthday
unless they were born

torn from the womb, history erased

without a consent
still born turtle island wept
kept on life support

spirit transmuted into a ghost

There was no midwife,
gently massaging her teet
insuring her comfort

coveted blood dripping from her brow

only insurance
that she would not remember
who she was before

we youth hear her quivering whisper

150 years
having landed, not arrived
food to wetiko

the hordes of our old ones rumble

the drum is calling
trespass runs hot through my veins
refusing to quell

she has been kind beyond her necessity

peaceful resistance
self loathing is narcism
we can do better

this land’s soil runs ancient

Open the in-between
decolonize canada
themselves & ourselves

Dance as if your feet were the flame

shake the ground with song
ecstatic connective reverence
bring in your lost dead

These are the spaces in-between stories

a shift’s precipice
a resurgence or a death
we can choose this fate

We can collectively choose life, together – and only together – we can thrive

#AppleCat

#WaterIsLife #LandIsSacred #Fuckthe150 #Canada150 #haiku #poetry#cananaday

The Decolonize mural artist credit goes to artist #LavieRaven

“Decolonize is a universal message to all people of the earth to reconnect to their ancestry, the earth, to their traditional medicines and knowledge, and to a global consciousness that we are all related. Everyone on the planet has indigenous roots to somewhere,”

Love Beyond WildFire

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Love until you’ve gone mad, and then once you get there – keep going. That’s where the lush stuff likes to hide.

Most people are taught to love with the transient and luminescent fragility of a candle’s flame. Leaving always a wondering of a greater capacity, a nagging “what if” whispering in your ear.

For a very long time I loved instead with the rebellious and destructive fierceness of a forest fire. All encompassing, passionate, erratic. Annihilative eros clearing all in its path. I burnt hot, I burnt out.
So then what else is there?

Rising from the ashes of that inferno, i embrace a rooted journey into the practice and scholarship of love. Roaming the crevasses and expense of the heart, to which I have yet to see any clear boundary or edge. Just an ever broadening horizon.

Instead of wild fire I choose to love like a cosmic catastrophe, as if every moment were a big bang. A constant and collective transformation.
Universe after universe dreamt through chaos, and crafted with order. With devotion and deep adoration in every beat in every sigh. I see now that authentic love is creation incarnate. I see that every moment, orgasm, heartbreak and wild abandon has been damn worth the continued fruits of the pilgrimage.

I cannot help but stand in awe at what strange and magnificent creatures we lovers tend to be.

– AppleCat

The Dark Feminine

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I did not come to be fetishized
Although, in it I delight
breasts pert & severed,
served rare,
I am Morrigan’s wolfish stare

Did the soft woman curdle your plight?


Conditionally loved divinity,
pickled femininity,
vacuum pack my bodyscape
fermented grace,
a wildness to be encased

within the shadow’s gentle step, we carry on


fill him with your holy sanction
a tattered spool unravels
trample his erection
sever his head
gifted purpose & legs wide spread

Oh chaos set me a flame, make them new again


burn away the eternal infraction
they want you fresh, Baba Yaga rejected
one will, divided by two
Lips part with honey and spice
all at the cost of paradise

Blood of the womb, blood of the fire


What of myself am I denying?
complying to the image of profane
wars fought for this picture of love,
embrace the reflection
seduce the mirror of imperfection

Untethered; dark and light interwoven


speaking the truth of my hearts desire
a soft cadence played under the moonlight
tamed patience
I am not lost, only advancing
I am but on the cusp of dancing

The Wild Woman reclaimed, as much she allows.

AppleCat

Fractures in Her

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[-Lost & Found Poetry: written March 2013-]

Stumbling too long, I fell behind, most aqua airsign’s
(proclaimed devine)
Standing tall somewhere in that nowhere waiting place.
A sparkle of illusive charm, bound lips and panther’s eyes
– ” What a bitch.” They hissed
“Must have an ego as high as the sky, I know I would.”

She had, clipped wings, injured bird, fallen from grace
I liked her that way.
Disposed diamonds and disregarded will.

piecing together time, stitching fabricated courage
None could vindicate this breakage.
Don’t hold your breath for any inkling of eloquence, my mistakes I wear on my sleeve
Where my heart used to live.

look through me as if i am your illusion
in idle desperation.
Projecting an image, I too wish I could be.
Maybe we are the same, each random splatter of paint,
mixed and muddy
in to a indecipherable shade of bedlam pandemonium

For now
I am unable to rise, to face the sun with a straight face
but I digress

I am a patient woman.

-applecat

The Scholar

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I am a soft cover novel
There are riddles written on my skin
I wonder
as the wine flows
will you raise a toast
and cheers to the ghost of me

And in life’s moments of quiet reflection
I note
Each trepidatious goose bump
Sprouts a tiny feather
Each inquisitive curve in my brow
A creaking bow, pulling further back

Capacity stretched,
at times I strain for breath.
Life pulses, pressing hard against my sternum.
Teeth bared they smile and bend down
A whisper extended, a brazen vow to behold
this unfurling truth.

In the midst of all this happening,
I am unraveled
Yet i am bound
I am awash at sea, swimming in observation

I am learning.

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I am a feast,
of which voracious wolves encircle
their patient palates
wet with desire
I sanctify, yet am not sanctified
this recovered wildness
bares no resemblance to ferality
tangled and gnarled, my roots go deep
I nourish
whisper unto me your toil


I felt it
this tired bodies fire
across from the expanse of hell
a breath calls out
unyielding, tenacious
Its weary abandon
aghast at my chosen landscape.
porcelain collapse, I am naked under all this
burdensome armor chafing my bones
I feel no fear here


I recall
piercing rabid eyes
and encompassing heart
a revolutionaries past,
brought forth, resurrected
memories of shed skins, haphazard fortuitous encounters
branded into my DNA
with tension and a bitten lower lip.
this happenstance
cannot be claimed


So then
when these times go asunder
allegiance
rapping at the door of your soul,
Don’t conclude he is so sinister.
I will herald a new age every twilight
and you can take the dawn
these bodies earned and bones reset
undone
in all your glory


dethrone the mask,
show me
your passions authoritative gaze
my sheathe for the lascivious nobleman;
tentative in his gaze, unravel me
arms flung open
I uncover your secret wings
in-between all of the honour
we soar
entwined & unabashed

– AppleCat

Could you love a Woman?

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Could you love a woman?
2:30 am, lips laden stained with red wine
drunk on prose and sound
dancing between the lines of social contradiction
an introverted observer and yearned to be more
the shadow she casts, she prefers to live in
yet on a stage she’s choosing to cherry pick the best hiding spots
crafting masks out of flesh and song, authentic expression mitigated and diluted from fear of being “too much”

Could you love a Woman?
4:30pm, as the day grows old and grey
her mind is clouded with love, with grief
hidden in the crevasses of the psyche, because
the hurt is too much, she fades and feels it all – person by person by person
this; the seed of a weary impediment, I know you will get tired, of the “I’m sorry’s”
the universal ache to which she has willingly married her self
Is it possible to hold affection to a heart encumbered with fragility, could it be that one could situate themselves so regenerative and inclined?

Could you love a Woman?
10:00am rolling out of bed, a broody vessel
dreams still chaperoning her thoughts, for this she believes she is poison
you wonder, if every kiss she writes out
illustrated intricately with adjectives, is yours
that maybe the mysterious “he” she scribbles to
each evening, could perhaps -even in part- represent you
the speculated “he” – are they even a person at all? But perhaps something much more. An unspoken whisper trickling down fingers tip.

Could you love a Woman?
5:30am still awake, still wondering
flooded with stories and gathered emotion
sleep cut ever short, a curious linguists mental incision
wit sharp, eyes wide, from all the soul she hides inside
slumber remaining still an elusive bitch
teasing heavy eyes with the threat of time’s finite grasp
in the morning perhaps it would have never happened at all, yet something still is changed nevertheless.

Could you love a Woman?
25:00am – the 25th hour, her secret place of refuge
a visceral exhale, in a time of gasping palpitation
kind eyes, a primal and fierce embrace signals yours
teeth and bone, tussling tongues – words are finally released
bound by medley, perplexed by human expectation
in a whirl it is liberated, set free and let to roam, wild as she – as you may well be
this is a time, a sanctuary in a momentless in-between, for a brave and clever one that could love a Woman such as “She”

– AppleCat

A Love Letter to Erotica Electronica

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Poetry is a selfish lover. A Bratty Princess.
She rolls over, at all hours – regardless of where I am, what I am working on, or whom I am working on – and she demands to be to be pleasured.

But – when I desire pleasure? inspiration? Like perhaps to ignite in writing my passion and adoration for each of you and these gatherings she replies

“ooooh sorry applecat, I have a headache – can I offer you a haiku? or a limerick even? that will do I am sure”

No, Poetry – a haiku will not do, not for the each of them – not for the dance we together weave.

Thankfully Poetry, -like me- is a voracious switch, and to evoke her submission all you have to do is own it Alpha Wolf style.

“Poetry you naughty little bitch!”

I command.

“I. Am. Your. Mistress. Roll over this instant and fuck me, fill me up with your LUSTFUL musings – for you are mine and I am yours, and with respect I demand you fuck me this instant”

and so with a sly and subby grin, as if that was her plan all along – fill me up she did.

And so, my love letter to Erotica Electronica

There are so many nights
left as blurs, memories of a memory
so many names I claimed to know, faces shifting into one another
some would have called me a shameless slut, others an empowered wanderer
But tonight, I will remember,
as you dance, fingers brushing against skin,
penetrative song, and teeth digging further in
I will revel in each orgasm, post party – regardless if I were there or not
Because tonight, the many are one.

This mask, his mask, her mask, their mask
all these masks to mask our truth, each a delicately crafted work of art,
each a facet of ourselves we choose illuminate
Masks of MULTIPLICITY,
you are not alone in your dark duality, wanton whispers as wet LIPS swell and part
by my MOUTH remands SHUT
Tried on, worn well
cookie cutter paper maiden, slide on, slide in – and out again – smeared over intense expression
Tied tightly, taken off
thrust hard against a wall of rebounding breath, face exposed, fairy tale
ravaged and unveiled

I see you, KIND OF HOLY, and A LITTLE PROFANE – together we gather, naked and BRAZEN – masks deemed obsolescent

you
Undress me with your eyes, dance as I pry you open
imagine lips between your thighs
like animals – teeth and bone, ivory and pink tissue dripping
this salacious carnality tastes like music
and perhaps, just perhaps
thats enough

I
with this found connection, our collective synchropation
half devoured,I slip deeper
into you,
SATIATING, with these secret SOUNDS
quivering in anticipation I BESEECH,
WITHIN this TANGLED orgy of MELODIES
drink me,
love this,
and I will be your slave

So hello tribe
I have mostly come to define you, by my bewildered inability to define you
So please, let whisper these songs to you
The carnal, earnest rage of BASS swelled in hot crescendos across my throat, beneath my ribs, guided by passion
each crafted sound, penetrating your ear, and body with a kind but fierce thrust
I’ll deliver each beat as my coveted discipline
for seeping from my every pore, is an arousing score
the bass and violin, making music of my sin

ah, may it be so that we mount and ride these deep sensual sounds into revolution

I would sip every drop of lust
From the expanse of our souls
back arched in ecstasy
body aching for the barest of touch
For sadistic as I am, how could I possibly be so cruel
to deny you the collective and cosmic climax you crave so much?

In this wild and broken world, you my loves – are both my comfort zone and my edge

The Music will play
Skin on skin, muscles clenching, bodies drenched.
beats are moaned, whimpered and sighed.
with every bar, each cavort grows more intense.
Harder and faster, throbbing, we delight in the ache, squirm and spiral -until-

FUCK

dramatically it crests, gasping, we collapse and fade into afterglow,
– and that is the true love letter yet to be played, and these are the songs of lustful adoration about to be told.

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These creatures circle , a slow approach to courtship

Primal remembrance
tongues shed their literacy
their robes to follow

her clinical observation, deemed obsolete

daring to go deep
a quivering reluctance
to love, thrust aside

This Collision consisting of startling Wonder

Memory’s shadow
mirrored their lips, and parted
holy and profane

Sensuality’s story frothing at the brim

Lust’s salt on their skin
fingernail trails leading home
a heartbeat conjoined

Desire immortalized in times finite embrace