Search results for: “Intergalactic Finance Minister”

I pass a rich estate on my way to resupply the larder. Globes of shimmering white lights hang from the old oak trees. The beautiful manse is lit up like a wedding cake.

My ego tells me I need to be in the compound surrounded by twelve foot security fence, stone pillars lit from below, multiple cameras monitoring the entrance. Only in this state of richness will she love me. Only with secure battlements, private pool and solarium will she want me.

My ego is a materialistic bitch.

I am me. I am that I am. I have what I have. The people housed in this mansion are certainly as miserable, and maybe even more sorry than I.

I know it. Yes, it would be so wonderful to have you. Secure inside the castle, moving in peace and safety. Living a dream of abundance. Everything we need to exercise our blessing. Space available to dance our dance, bathe our precious avatars in the sun around our private swimming grotto.

Pay off the locals to KEEP OUT and leave us alone. The stalkers have all died, the agents are dead.

We are the controllers.

Our performance continues day and night. The simple life we desire, hidden safely inside a massive fortress. Ballet bars in a mirrored dance studio, a library of our personal collection. Sound stage and instruments. Steam baths and cedar lined saunas.

Beds of goose down, the finest muslin robes. Your favorite colors everywhere, your music, your art. Our dreams.

Tractors and implements in multiple out-buildings. A private pond, a rowing boat, temperature controlled greenhouses, and peach orchards.

We have it all. We have each other.

A Rich Manse. Intergalactic Finance Minister

We meet in dreamland. Smoke from a steaming bath fills the room. A dripping mirror reflects your vision, a lion sits beside your robe. Brushing your hair, drying your locks, admiring your lovely smile.

I Love You.

We meet in dreamland. The sun beams down on your body, rustling evergreens and birch trees sing a susurrus song. A lion sits beside your battle dress.

I Love You.

We meet in dreamland. The ocher glow of a roaring fire warms your cream colored curves. The licking flames grow higher and higher. A lion sits beside your milk chocolate gown.

I Love You.

We meet in dreamland. Splashing waves of a neap tide, the silver moon rising over the horizon. A lion sits beside your little black suit.

I Love You.

We meet on the summit. Birds are singing, fauns and does gather round. Your words are a healing poultice. Pleasant poetry, magical music, artful exercise. A lion sits beside us.

I Love You.

A Lion Sits Beside You. Intergalactic Finance Minister

We’re ten feet over the forest canopy, zooming in and out of the soaring boughs.

Straight over the heath, wood, and barrow.

I follow your tail feathers like a hawk. You land on the green lawn below.

Your gossamer body reflecting noonday rays like Archimedes mirror.

I’m jolted by your beauty. I can hardly breathe, my landing is chaotic.

I search the exquisite scene. It’s you in the sun.

All of my senses are overloaded.

All of my upbringing is to love you.

I find you on the heath, purple blossoms, passion flowers.

Secret grassy swales for lovers to hide.

You hold a torch, your dress gliding behind you, a rippling flag of American Beauty.

We see a cavernous opening carved by the creator.

The crevasse turns to a twisting stone hallway.

The hall opens into a private gallery.

Pools of crystal water.

A hot spring churns in the center.

Rising steam glistening off granite walls.

We remove our robes and enter the water.

Your skin glows pearls and jade.

Your flaxen hair falling down to the small of your back.

A crimson lustre on your cheek.

Your lips like tender rose buds dipped in sea salt.

It’s a glorious day to be alive.

Hot Spring Report. Intergalactic Finance Minister

Hot Spring Report. Intergalactic Finance Minister

Your dress is the color of milk chocolate with hints of ocher red. The contours of your hourglass body are seen through the pines. Your flaxen hair reaching the small of your back. Your arms are raised in prayer and gratitude.

It’s you in a milk chocolate dress. Hourglass contours in the sun.

Hands to the sky in prayer and gratitude.

Hints of ocher and apple red.

I’m a faun in the woods.

I see you in your milk chocolate dress.

Hourglass contours in the sun.

You lead me into your teepee. We light several candles and share a peace pipe.

You lay down on your back, hands to your sides. I sit beside you.

I gently place my right hand on your solar plexus, my left hand on your brow.

We sit like this for several minutes. At first we smile and giggle, the two of us like golden fleece, a living tree, the ocean waters.

My right hand on your solar plexus. My left hand on your brow.

The moment finds us.

I sweep away all thought and focus on the light.

Your smile turns to a focused grin.

My left hand on your brow.

The light surrounds us. The spheres of heaven play a glorious melody.

Your golden energy is all I see.

My life is changed forever.

I love you.

Perfectly.

Milk Chocolate Dress. Intergalactic Finance Minister

The days are spent reading, writing, aromatics, acrobatics, dancing, and tumbling.

You like to work in the solarium with your books, tea, and towel.

I join you frequently, sitting beside your chaise-lounge, enjoying the luxury of your view.

Today, I am absent, out in the field with the men, harvesting hay, examining the rigs, inspecting the ship.

All fake money forces have been annihilated; secret, fraternal, commie, essential workker, paid-off, local, state, federal, goon-hound, sell-outs are finished.

For now, I’m with the men.

But it won’t last long.

Your call remains forever in my heart.

Every instinct is to love you.

I’ll laugh and cry and dance with you.

That is what we’re born to do.

Progress Report. Intergalactic Finance Minister

I was walking blind into oblivion.

Not a care in the world.

Careless like the flames of a forest fire.

From the depths of total destruction I see two emerald eyes, the mane of a LION, the soft touch of a maiden.

She sets me down kindly on solid ground. I smile and say, “Thank YOU!”

Just now realizing how close to annihilation I was.

You saved me. You are the sun. You are the light.

I’m back in the game!

I love YOU!

Rescued From The Flames of Ennui. Intergalactic Finance Minister

We enter a huge canopy tent in the desert.

Lighted by silver sconces, a smoking urn in the center, blue aromatics wafting through the bedouin.

The floor is carpeted with Persian rugs. Around the perimeter are instruments; guitars, drums, cymbals, flutes, tambourines.

We are invited to play any instrument we wish.

We say a prayer and sup from a golden goblet.

We warm and tune our instruments.

A smile is shared through the group, we turn outward to enjoy the moment.

Your feet are bare and ankleted with silver bells.

The music begins.

The music is now.

The music is ours.

The music is triumph, Calvary, courage.

We are the music.

The music is over.

The night is through.

All I can think about is you.

Chansonettes de sa Facon. Intergalactic Finance Minister