(Mostly) Google Prose - My Vagina Wants

My vagina wants to go deeper. It's hungry for depth.
My vagina wants a world where it decides when and how and with whom.
My vagina wants an Uzi.
My vagina wants its own cooking show.
My vagina wants to play Hungry, Hungry Hippo with your cock.
My vagina wants to try.
My vagina wants to go on dates.
My vagina wants about a dolla ninety five.
My vagina wants to talk again!
My vagina wants to fall out of me.
My vagina wants to talk...to relax...to breathe... to have adventures... have great sex.
My vagina wants to wear white cotton and say "be gentle and loving."
My vagina wants natural fibers.
My vagina has very exacting standards. If you don't measure up - get out.
My vagina wants a little understanding - and if it doesn't get it, it's going to settle for a chaise lounge and a nice side table...because my vagina is more mature these days and is beginning to understand that there is a certain beauty in practicality.
Independence is the best aphrodisiac of all.

Men

Sometimes...
When the day is dragging
I will look at the personals ads on
Craigslist
So many men
Looking for something
But I always wind up
Looking at the furniture ads instead
Because they are more interesting
And useful.

Sunday

Wild and ridiculous - loud mating calls in the woods.
Clacking sticks together - expressions of false seriosity.
We advance.

And here she comes - gray-faced and earnest in her need to warn us of the danger.
Grunting and chastising without a hint of a smile in her eyes.

Brown hair, pulled back. Mousy.
Ordinary tank top... capris...sandals.
She's clean. If she's crazy - she's well kept by someone.
Maybe she's for real.

We slink away like younglings caught smoking behind the tool shed. At once, defiant and cowed.

Surely, she laughed behind our backs.

Surely, she's laughing still.

The Forest of Haunted Longings

In the forest of haunted longings
'neath shimmering starlit skies
Dwells a girl who sings of wishes
with dreams behind her eyes

Hope Dawns

Forty year-old hands gently crafting with clay...a tiny doorway.

Forty years - and the desire to find a way to step into other is undiminished.

And so, a doorway is crafted and installed. Over time, little stones form a pathway. Flowers are planted as offerings.

This isn't charming yard art. This is an expression of hope.