Books About Our Love


When I touch my hand to the earth, I touch you.

When I gaze with wonder into the sky, I see you.

When the wind blows my hair across my face, it is your touch I feel.

When the sun pierces my eye and wraps me in warmth,

Two hearts collide and your arms envelop me.

He becomes the sun.

I become the moon.

I could write books about our love.

My Perfect Counterpart


Basking in your rays, I feel your warmth. You radiate your light in my direction as it permeates the deepest fibers of my being. You wrap me in your love and sustain me another day. The perfect counterpart to my cool–my sun, my beloved, my very life force…You and I dance together like the world is on fire. Time is measured in light and form becomes formless. No outlines, no perimeters, no boundaries…We crash into one another creating wild and lucid energy, as we ascend into unimagined realities.

Alchemy and magic–that’s what we are.

Imagination Station


I write you in my head many times a day.

More than a fleeting thought, yet born of fleeting moments.

In an imagined reality none can steal but us,

Creatively conjoined as only we could be,

We should be.

We are.

What do I say of you in my head?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

Do you feel my thoughts as I give them energy?

Telepathically dancing through the mind scape of imagination…

May they touch you,

Move you,

Invite you,

To yet another moment…

What is Real?


He asked me if it was real. “Like how do you know if it’s real?

I replied, “It is as real as anything else they say is real.

Just because they say it is unreal, or less real, does not make it so.

What do you feel in this moment? Does it spur your energy?

Does it send vibrations from the base of your awareness out through the top of your crown?

Does it warm you and make you feel whole, one with source?

Does it make the hairs on the back of your neck protrude, while you simultaneously sink into its love?

Does it make your knees buckle and your heart jump?

What about your toes? Do you feel it?

Do you think of it later and smile, or simply laugh out loud in gratitude for how beautiful life can be?

Does it both excite and calm your senses all at the same time?

In that moment, is there anywhere else in the entire world you would rather be?

When that moment has passed, do you find yourself longing to revisit that sense of bliss?

This is how you know it is real. It cannot be fake nor faked.

Then again, tell me—is anything ever real?