Sweet Nothings/Nothing Sweet

When I whisper
"sweet nothings"
in your ear
there will be
nothing
"sweet"
about it.

It will be
hot-breathed,
heated,
appetence and ache,
all teeth and tongue,
while nipping at your neck.

There will be
low hums
and
gritty moans
sung
from the recesses
of my soul
into the
riveting depths
of yours.

There will be hair pulled,
breath matched and caught,
while fingernails
run aching paths
down arching backs.

I'll talk of
fucking
on the hood
of my warm car
in the winter sunlight
by the lake,
our breath
coming
in rapid
puffs of white,
(heat from our lungs
doing combat with the crisp air)
muscles taut and bodies hot,
as we remove
only
the pieces of our clothing
necessary
to make this work
without
freezing to death.

I'll suggest,
with my hand on your fly,
my tongue in your ear,
that you let me
tie
You
(your turn ..... This time)
blindfolded
to the kitchen chair;
persuading you
with my touch
to utter your breathless
"YES."
Urging you to
imagine
how it feels
when I
stealthy and silent
leave a room
just
long enough
for you to wonder
if I've abandoned you;
letting you know
that i might return
right before worry does,
with ice between my parted lips
to run across
your tensed muscles,
as you buck up to meet me.

I'll render for you
in painterly tones
the way your skin tastes
after a long night together,
the scent of you
at twilight,
the weight and supple strength
of you tangled up with me
in the near dark
and how I revel
in the symphony of sounds,
low and sweet,
that you compose --
impromptu --
as I play you
like a
late night
cello.

I'll remind you
about the way
our eyes
lock and hold
at the moment of connection,
how time slows
in the aching, gasping heat
of our bodies mingling
and our souls meeting
in physical form.

At the point which
you
(eagerly)
ask me to go on,
I'll suggest,
slyly,
that the next time
you have the chance to back
me up against that alley wall,
pinning me there
with my arms above my head --
your hard thigh
pressed between my legs --
that you should
perhaps
TRY
to remember
that I'm wearing a skirt
...
and little else.

Self-immolation,
My Darling,
is more fun with two.

Closure

You tasted of vanilla
and moon beams,
Shone
like the
Summer sun
And
         I
  f
      e
           l
               l
into
the
Abyss
of your charisma
And almost drowned
In your seductive words
And easy charm.

I
was under water
and
over my head
 with you.

Because
your wit
played well with mine.

And
our wordlove
intertwined
At all
the right intersections.

Sentences made out in dark alleys
And laughed against each other
 with wild abandon in public

And
    I
  Leaned
into your quicksilver tongue
Thinking all those
 slippery words
 meant something.

I was
starving
for a like mind
 and you
filled all of that hunger
        and more.

You sated my mind
 and starved my body
and I
couldn't differentiate wordplay
   from foreplay.

That was my failing and my undoing.

I see that now.

I wanted
And
you Said
you wanted
 but never acted.

And the words ...
 Oh...the Words...
they held All the keys
 to my locked up desires
and
   I
       Believed
 with all the zealous fervency
born of hope
fueled by mixed messages
and actions that belied a truth
I didn't want to see.

We should have
stayed
 what we were really becoming
---  the best of friends.

But your words
spoke of Desire
And my desires
 then spoke Words
And
some things
broke
 in the middle
 (including my tender heart).

 At the time
 I blamed you for using me ill.

Since then,
I have had time to think
...and have come to fathom
 the Truth.

You loved the Idea
 me
--The laugh and banter
    Ease of me.

And I
 Thought
   I loved You.

And our Brains --
Our word-happy,
 quick-witted
    Brains...
They danced together.
They were bosom companions.
They delighted in each other's
swiftness and in the match they found
In the other.


Mine still misses yours
But
with more clarity now.

I hope
you can forgive me
for believing your
sex-charged words
 instead of seeing them
 for
the continuation
of the verbal tango
 that made us such fast friends.

Because I can see now
 that That is what they were.

And what We
   were meant to be.

6/24/17
For E...written the night before he died. 

Words Matter

"Words matter. Never forget this."

This was my soul speaking to me at the witching hour. When my soul speaks, I listen.

"Words," it said, "have might. Words have majesty. Words have prowess. Words have
power. Words are safety and solace, fire and fuel, danger and delight.

Words, with an express delivery, deliver expression. When you're feeling expressive they
express feeling. They are capable of creative clarity and clear creativity.

Words cajole. Words tease.
Words try me. Words release me.

Words hold me, hurt me, heal me, haunt me. Words keep me company when I cannot sleep.

Words are the delicious delicacies in the stuff of my dreams. Words are the disturbing
demons in my waking nightmares. Words challenge me when I need to grow. Words
comfort and console me when I feel small and need them most.

Words have potential. Words carry thought and bestow meaning.

Words have weight. So often I wait for the right words to wait on me. To lean into me,
weighty while I await their weighted might.

Words are written in the secret places of my psyche and proclaimed in a timeless ink on
my skin. Look closely...anyone with a patient eye will see them. There, love is penned on
the parchment of hope. You'll read longing and desire, and savor the satisfying flavor of
fulfillment. There is heartbreak and hurt, bravery and bravado, appetence and ache,
strength, wisdom, humour, and a sprinkling of magic.

Truth lives in my words, beauty too, and a wicked laughter that appears most often when
shared.

Words have a life of their own. Words live on long after they're said.

Words can be as playful as a water pistol or as serious as a silver bullet hurtling towards
your heart.

Words can be colder than an ice flow and more cutting than a butcher's knife. Words can
freeze your spirit and kill you with their arctic cruelty.

Words can wrap you in a sultry warmth you won't want to recover from and keep you
comforted in a way no duvet will ever achieve. Words can be hotter than a naked lover
on a cold winter night.

Words cradle me in the arms of angels. Words hide me from the vengeful enemies that
are my cruelest monsters. Words both create and slay the hide-y bastards that lurk in the
corners of my word hungry mind. Words chew on the bones of my secret fears.

You cannot unsay words. You can never unsay words. Therefor, choose your words
wisely.

By all means, play with your words. Explore them! Be whimsical with words, dance with
them in the waning sunlight, splash through them in colourful rainboots, run them over
your body like the softest silk while giggling at the sensual secrets you conjure with
them. Make poetic leaps with them like so many mountain goats on a rocky crag, or float
gracefully to the clouds with them like Phileas Fogg in his hot air balloon taking 80 days
to circumnavigate the globe of your tender psyche.

But also, I entreat you, wield words wisely and with gracious compassion. Be aware with
your words. Do not use them as burning brand to mark me. Do not, callous in their usage,
bruise my spirit with your thoughtlessness. Think before your words become whips that
scar or chains that bind.

Instead, brush them soothingly over my fevered brow like a cool cloth on a hot day. Hold
them up as a gentle offering, an olive branch after a long wintry warring of the soul.
Wave them at me as a flag of truce. Cheer me on with them above the roar of the day.
Wrap your words around me softly. Rub them against my rain washed skin. Kiss me with
them until I can't breathe; my lips passion-bruised from gasping their joy to the world.

I like to run my tongue across the subtle textures of my words. I like to lap at them, to
lick luxuriously, to languorously linger on each arching syllable as I lave them in the
moonlight of my mind. I like to savor their softness, and sink my teeth into their flesh
until they whimper under the pressure and quietly beg for more.

Words hang in the ether like a beacon or a flaming cross, depending how they're
intentioned and how you wield them. Wield them wisely, whimsically, wishfully, but
never with cruelty or wastefulness. Wash daily in words and your spirit will glow with
the beautifying effects of a mind well cared for."

I have a love for words and in wording this I have found many loves. My soul speaks
truth.

Words matter. Never forget this.

Words matter.

June 7, 2010
Copyright Tanya Anguita

Mermaid

In the Sea of Life,
there are those that fight the waves,
And those
that the waters
recognize
as their own.

Mermaid --

Singer of magic,
Weaver of dreams,
Font of laughter,
Community builder,
Kindness bringer,
Bastion of strength,
And speaker of truths --

YOU ,
Loved by so many,
glide and dance
With remarkable power,
Over the rippling water's edge,
And straight into
The loving arms of Poseidon.

He's been waiting for you,
You know,
With love in his heart.

And now
The Waves
caress your Beloved face,
welcoming you Home
After seeming eons
of waiting
For your
Sweet Return.

©Tanya Anguita

She....

She is my heart
In a small warm body
Separate (and not)
From mine....

She is my best
Every thing...
My breath,
My soul,
My largest of the small.

She is a huge being
In a tiny package,
A mirror to
My harshest truths

She is the sun
Bright and powerful
To my waxing
And waning moon.

She is my dearest
My toughest,
My most beloved,
My teacher,
And my student.

She is my laughter,
My tears,
My hopes,
My fears,
She is Love,

She is Magic,

She is my Child.

And I am blessed to be her Mother.

©Tanya Anguita

Another Chance to get it Right

Full Moon has me up again
When I should be asleep;
All the doubtful, hateful thoughts
Into my psyche creep.
In Motherhood's clear mirror
Is a harsh and cruel reflection,
Filled with unkind, fearful thoughts

And glaring imperfection.
Black Dog wanders close to me
Pressed up against my leg.
Artemis's darker side
Takes me down a peg.
She used to make me brazen, warm;
To magnify my boldness.
I know Her fullness better now,
I'm Sister to Her coldness.
Instead of strength and fearlessness,
I'm wracked with doubt and worry.
Wound tighter than an 8 day clock,
I'm always in a hurry.
I feel like I am over-strung,
A bow that's pulled too tight.
The Lady Moon just magnifies
All that isn't right.
I've lost my way this moonlit night
So aimlessly I roam
I wander, fearful, in the dark
I can't find my way home.
I love Her still and gaze on Her
With Unrequited love,
While hoping that She'll send a
Fleeting smile from above.
Or grant me Grace where I have none --
A gesture made of kindness.
Her glacial glow a soothing balm -
A light to cure my Blindness.
I'd like to lay these frightful thoughts
Forever on a shelf;
To see in the Moon's Glory
The kindest version of my Self.
I want to see her Harvest-Strength -
She's Maiden, Mother, Crone -
To find in Her a brighter, truer
Image of my Own.
So here I am, Her supplicant,
Bathing in her light,
Naked in my honesty,
A wingless bird in flight.
Writing out this crazy prayer
Under a cloudless sky
While learning how to glide and dip -
If not exactly fly.
As long as I don't hit the ground
In blazing, flaming glory,
I have the chance to daily write
A new part of my story.
So maybe that's the lesson
On this Moonful, thoughtful night -
That every minute is
Another Chance to get it Right.
Thank you Lovely Luna
For the lessons that you teach,
Even on the harsher nights
When you feel out of reach.
I think that I'll repeat myself
Because it soothes my soul:
Every minute is another chance
To make One whole.
I think that that's my lesson
On this Moonful, Thoughtful Night -
That Every minute is
Another Chance to get it Right.

(c) Tanya Anguita
9/8/2014

Black Dog

Black Dog
is
gnawing at my soul tonight.
Can't get out
from under the weight
of its heavy jaw
which is wrapped
around the tender confines
of my weary heart.

I am out of resources,
out of joy,
and at a loss
for where to find them.

The Ol' Red Shoes
are dancing me
relentlessly around the room
these days
to a never-ending loop
of the Song of Despair
while my heart
bleeds out
through my raw soul
on a glass-strewn dance floor
in a hostile bar
called "Life."

I'm drowning on land,
choking on dirt and earthly matter(s)
Swallowing my filthy pride
in gulps of rubble and grime.

Oh how I'd like to sink into the mire,
settle into the loam below,
and stop fighting
the "good" fight.

Every gesture
(in the attempt to keep afloat)
feels like
Futility,
cloaked in
"Why?"
in a never-ending trek
towards
Failure.

I have nothing left
to offer
and I'm too tired
to care.

I used to think that
Joy
was my due.

I thought that
Happiness
was something
I would always find.

I believed that
Love
was boundless;
that
Delight
was not fleeting.

But
Exhaustion
is replete,
Anger
eats away at me,
Impatience and Resentment
are poisoning my thoughts,
and my actions.

My account at the
Give a Fuck Bank
is almost empty...
save for the few pennies
rattling around
in the rusty bottom
of the worn tin can
of loving care
that
I'm rabidly guarding
to share with
the beautiful child
it is my job
and my blessing
to raise.

It feels like not enough tonight
and I'm scared.

(c) Tanya Anguita
June 20, 2014