Chocolate Erotic

A CHOCOLATE DIPTYCH 

 

Out there in the world we encounter all shades and shapes and flavors; and the variety might be tempting if one fails to recognize the value of what‘s right here…

Right here

In my heart

I know

I have all I need.

I have you.

Deep and dark and true

Intense, complex,

Sometimes tannic, sometimes sweet,

Layered, luscious, ambrosial, complete.

Sumptuous and scrumptious,

 Exceptional,

Delectable.

I take you

Into every inch of me.

~ Heaven ~

Hold on!

This passion, this obsession, this commitment to the “we “

Promises to be

Sensual, artisanal,

Synchronously bittersweet.

A love affair.

Or a box of chocolates.

*Both collages were made entirely of chocolate packaging and Sharpies©

The Creator

Dear Readers… Have a look, have a read, give it some thought, and then share yours. { ♥! }

~Α↔Ω~

I AM the Creator.

The Creator?  He is me.

Together we developed

This form

Of divinity.

A spark of life,

The journey’s strife,

Each lesson learned therein,

Uncover beauty unrevealed

Yet nestled in the plan.

I AM divine.

I do create.

You, too, conspire with me.

Together

We

Essentially

Create Eternity.

And we’re doing a damn good job.

Creator:

  • one that creates usually by bringing something new or original into being
  • a person who grows or makes or invents things
  • one who creates

To Create:

  • To cause to exist; bring into being.
  • To give rise to; produce.
  • To produce through artistic or imaginative effort. 

Create:

cause, lead to, hatch, occasion, give life to, install, bring about, make, form, produce, invent, develop, coin, design, initiate, generate, formulate, compose, establish, devise, originate, give birth to, spawn, dream up, appoint, make, found,  concoct, set up, beget, invest, bring into being or existence… 

Oriole Splendor

Last week I watched an oriole in the wildflower garden and tried to photograph him. The results were abyssmal. To satisfy my need for an image capturing the moment, I plucked some of the amaranth he nibbled on, pressed them and incorporated the  dried blossoms into a collage.

Fun!

Loving The Fig

Love Affairs. They’ve been in my dreams, in my work, on my mind. As I’ve told you before, I love LOVE. I’m all about it. And right now, there’s so much to love. Like my garden.

Yesterday The Good Husband and I spent hours in the garden cleaning, preening, trimming and skimming. We wore our swimsuits and hopped in the pool to cool. Gentle breezes rustled mesquite beans from their branches and clouds spread themselves thinly between the bright desert sun and us. Rain would come. Lovely!

In the Mission Garden I ate several late strawberries, trimmed back the mint (I have more than a dozen varieties), and harvested a lovely cache of figs. FIGS! Now there’s a fruit that’s inspired lots of love. And is it ever revered. Historically, the fig tree’s been considered sacred in all parts of Southwestern Asia, Egypt, Greece, and Italy. And now, of course, in Tucson.

Pliny The Elder, the noted Roman writer and natural philosopher, said “Figs are restorative. They increase the strength of young people, preserve the elderly in better health and make them look younger with fewer wrinkles.”

Bring on the figs!

Figs symbolize abundance, fertility, sweetness. Like a ripe and ready, fecund woman. The most mentioned fruits in the bible, figs also played key roles in ancient tales of love and seduction. Not surprising. Figs are sexy. Consider the words used to describe figs… Fleshy, Luscious, Rosy, Satiny, Smooth, Succulent. You get the picture.

Figs. I love them. Have I made you think twice? If so, take a look at some of mine:

Inspiration:

The Fig

by Gabriela Mistral, as translated from the Spanish by Maria Jacketti

Touch me: it is softness of good satin, and when you open me, what an unexpected rose! Do you not remember some king’s black cloak under which a redness burned?

I bloom inside myself to enjoy myself with an inward gaze, scarcely for a week.

Afterward, the satin opens generously in a great fold of Congolese laughter.

Poets have not know the color of night, nor the figs of Palestine. We are both the most ancient blue, a passionate blue, richly concentrating itself because of its ardor.

I spill my pressed flowers into your hand. I create a deaf meadow for your pleasure. I shower you with the meadow’s bouquet until covering your feet. No. I keep the flowers tied – they make me itch; the resting rose also knows this sensation.

I am also the pulp of the Rose-of-Sharon, bruised.

Allow my praise to be made: I nourished the Greeks, and they have praised me less than Juno, who gave them nothing.

Things I Love Today

In The Garden…

Bright, bold blues bouncing in the breeze

My personal staircase disguised as rip rock

Baby, bronzing pomegranates

Basil pretending to be purely decorative

Grapevines flowing from olive jars