Love Without Mirrors


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



The Dark Feminine


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.


Fractures in Her

[-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.


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.


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
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
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

A Love Letter to Erotica Electronica


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
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

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

with this found connection, our collective synchropation
half devoured,I slip deeper
into you,
SATIATING, with these secret SOUNDS
quivering in anticipation I BESEECH,
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-


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



from which I was crafted,
I will keep writing of love, as long as love is alive in me
I have far before my time, and will far after

Listen –

As the dust cues to our catastrophic cosmic connection
Visceral and utterly pleated
into my live’s mythology

the enormity of our hearts unified pulse, penetrating deeply
it ploughs hard and fills me up,
bringing my lust into fruition, swimming in sex
the eros we share
thick and dripping down our mortal coil

The Kata to my Kali

relishing in Water’s adversarial love affair
with fires smouldering gaze – enraptured in their consequential vapour
a thousand years they’ve practiced
for this one short lifetime
a chance to do it right

beyond war & flame
beyond monarchy & botched revolution

He of whom meets my fierce gaze with an infectious softness
– together we birth an air of wild kindness
He of whom claims my bastard body as if it were royalty
– together we sow a sprouted flesh and rooted noble sensuality
He of whom scoured my landscape and unearthed a petrified heart
– together we revisioned two sovereign wanderers into a king and queen inservice to life.

Life pulses in gratitude, whispering a brazen promise to behold us & our enchanting truth.

most days
we are requisitioned by the world,
other days
our worlds capacity is stretched by life
and betwixt it all,
he is my world – small, quiet and serene, a refuge in the in-between

In the midst of our happening,
I am undone
to him, i pledge a loyalty to love and all it’s iterations
to him, I vow to christen myself in desire
to him, and to him in totality

I entrust my surrender.



Shush Woman, they said
Shut out your words, for they will burn you
Shut out your enduring power, for they will ignite you
Shut out your judicious truth, for it is not within your ownership to dictate
Shut out your precious integrity, for it’s pyre will swallow you whole

There was a time, rooted deep in our blood & bones
where free speech, led to blistering heat
There was a time, in the ghost of our grandmothers
where free speech, led to compound fractures
There was a time, penned into the eyes of our Mothers
where free speech, led to shameful demotion
There is a time now, in these spaces where we settle
where free speech, threatens to send us tumbling back
to the days of shamefulness, trespassed bodies and fire
So much fire

So shush Woman, less they see you

Shush Woman, I say
Forgive yourself for being beautiful, for it is not all that you are
Forgive yourself for enjoying sex, for the archetype “slut” is only an abstraction
Forgive yourself for crafting thought, for the world needs your voice to thrive
Forgive yourself for loving so profoundly, for it is what you were built to inspire

Here is an opportunity, to repurpose our wounds
where the bipolar inferno could marry us all to the unseen
Here is an opportunity, to write a new story
release the fickle paradise and quivering clipped bridal wings
Here is an opportunity, to put a close to our internal warfare
The targets on our backs painted with whispers, surmised antiquated
Here is an opportunity, to unify & embody our strength
A community cutting through the trauma and the chains, stating
“we’re worth more than this”
so much more

So shush Woman, less they learn with you

There is no victory in sacrificing ecstasy for sanity
So burn dear Woman, let your fearful rage transmute to fierce love
Awaken the Wild, the untamed passion
set forth the flame of which resonates saturated in the throes of heartbreak – and take back the element of which was used to slight you
and perhaps then;

A conjunction in the form of an exhale
our celebration of imperfect but ardent progression
a notion of familial kinship
seeing each other, from womb to tomb
A Family – Bred of Flame
Not of Blood –
– But of consecrated devotion, and authentic love
– Born of Freedom
and perhaps then
without the encapsulating fear or hatred – we can finally rest with ease

– AppleCat

Art Credit: Christian Schloe Digital Artwork –

Three years today


Through raw omission & unpolished memory they walk on, years on
sentimental etymology— it sighs
never forget me,
Hearts kissed with blue bruises
each a keepsake ostending
“you’ve done well, now go on”

years on
beyond the binds of “good” and “bad” – clear of their fostered paradigm
lays a village sown
Hearts bruised purple from souls diligence
two elements taming a story
walk on, years on

lips surface to a gasp
and exclaim
“we are fire and water, and we will not be broken”

what fire turned
this tidal flow to stone what sent them a voice to roam
without the ribs
that serve to block eminence
drowning on the throne

Years on,
Paradoxal counterparts
Crafting a call
Purple and blue nebula mutiply
strewn across an interwoven vascular chamber
each one
a reminder – for years on

“Walk on, go on – you’ve done well”