What Causes a Man to Love a Woman?


April showers

I don’t love you! he says in the winter before he’s even met her.

The woman loves him first.

Love comes from the woman and grows.

First she loves herself, then him, then it begins.

Then she shows it.

The fructiferous, fecund spring floret

entices, gesticulates and wafts her

puissant, firm yellow, orange, or red hips

and engulfs the inconversant, comatose, innocent

male insect into her luscious, succulent, wet, petals

from the morning dew…

He wanders in, unwittingly, smelling the familiar pollen

gifted by the stamen.

Hermaphrodite freak, as arable and luxuriant as can be.

The blossom accidentally feeds the male with her nectar

and in, keen, eager, yearning for her ambrosia that is the natural wine of love…

he is silent.

You don’t love me? You haven’t drunk a drop.

When a woman decides she wants to wrap her wet pussy around a particular man, kiss him deeply and long, give him her sexual energy, her feelings, and activate her heart, he thinks he fell in love with her all by himself and initiated it. Then she feeds him a delicious meal. Don’t do all of that woman unless you’re sure you want him to stay!

Her body and her will took him if she knows what she’s doing. That’s my problem. My body wants to do all of that but I like being alone. Damn. I can’t lure him in then step on it. Women do that to men too much.

She picked him, started it, covered all the bases, and he finished it.

But can she continue in that love? Nature keeps changing her. Maybe she shouldn’t start at all because autumn will come again, then winter, and she must die back and return to the soil.

They are both undone and it’s only spring.

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Longing


kissing

 

Languishing, ardent desire isn’t a painful kind of suffering,

It’s fulfillment; the kind that worries lacking it.

Your voice…a deep bell struck under water causing small

ripples in my undertow.

It’s engorged life, fertile effulgent, flaming magma-like flow

Not too much! You’re perfect.

My sighing kisses embarrass for a moment while I check my breathing

It’s a strong, mutual heartbeat echoing through my body

And I believe I am undone…again.

 

Skin


pick a tomato

Shell of a turtle, a carapace, guards your continuance of electric water, straight to your brain, pulls your vibration down in by degrees.

Your skin like a husk full of ridges on corn smells sweet,

hard to pull off at the bottom, tassel so soft on my face, the smell of earth.

Your arm was warm and pleasant as the first tomato of summer in my hungry hand.

Let me bite into that luscious fruit, so sweet and tangy

 or a mango stream of juice down my chin.

I’m distracted, clement smells from your back

Why are so sweet yet so smart and severe?

No end to touch makes my breathing peaceful.

I feel happy…oh god I’m doomed.

Indeed, it only lasted one day and you ripped your skin from me again.

At least you can’t take the memory from me.

Words can never erase actions like skin can never cover feelings.

 

The River


mountain and riverI only want the resolute, beefcake mountain to stare at, smell, climb, jump up and down and to live on.

I want to avoid the vehement river rushing past it like a circumbendibus detour on the highway to hell.

Just let me go straight up the mountain on the trail!!!

No. The higher perspective at the summit will remain unattainable if you don’t cross the river, and the river is not going away. It’s a fact of nature.

Women and Men.

Emotions and Logic.

 

Blessings


(I wrote this eight years ago but forgot about it.)

The memories of the past tumble down the hill like rocks and wash over me…

like so many waves that crash on the shore

only to go out to sea to be mixed in with the foam, the seaweed, the plethora of gorgeous salt life that heals and evolves all life.

The salt tears only last one minute to transmit my signal.

The heat, the pulsing in my muscles, the steady beat of my heart in the workout show that the source of being in my blood, my body, and my breath, given to me by this Perfect Earth will erase, heal, and forever dispel the smaller pieces of Earth that are to only be absorbed into all that is.

Bless the body.

Bless the blood.

Bless the heartbeat.

Bless the plants and trees and flowers and small creatures that give us pure, big, joy.

Goddess protect the children from harm through all Mothers and Fathers that honor you…and dispel The Sleep Walking Takers like so many rocks falling into the sea where they too can be transformed by the waves, the salt, and the seaweed given to all as a good gift.

Bless Mother Earth that has given us every good, perfect thing as we travel this elusive journey of pain and death and wake up to Perfection.

©Lisa Townsend, 12/2/11

The sea

 

Famished


Ciron-the-centaurI am so dull at the specter of rapacious male lust that is overfull and never sated.

Colossus centaur in his superhero fantasy, piggish and greedy for huge breasts and a river of pussy.

It’s just food to him…her body. Just…a meal to gratify his insatiate greed…unless he loves her.

He can turn into a freak devil that does the same thing with hollow power…unless he loves her.

Even if she wanted to she couldn’t fill his black hole of need. A surfeit of money, accolade, ambition, and respect is a snack, but he is not yet a muscle-bound giant so the bloody feast must rage on.

He doesn’t know anything divergent, no other way to prevail, so it’s not something to be rabid about. As a male, every single institution has indoctrinated him to dominate and be a consumer who overfills his barbarian, carnivorous soul. He wasn’t born this way, it’s calculated so he can be of maximum use in the machine with very large teeth.

As a woman, every single institution from her birth has taught her that it’s a handicraft to feed his hungry lost soul, that he cannot feed himself, that he needs to be fed by everything she is, can do or possess because he is barren. Is he really barren of love?

The truth is…he has it all because woman indulged him and gave him her vitality. She didn’t have to! She still does long to give him all of her allegiances and not be loved in return. Why? It’s her undoing. It’s calculated so she can be of maximum use in the machine with very large teeth.

He thinks it’s control from her because he feels dependent and hungry, controlled by his edacious body or the cruel vacuum of his mother’s love. And it’s not just the food he needs, its flavor. He’ll even go to another planet to consume what they have, trying to find a novel flavor. Why does she feel sorry for his empty belly that covers an unrequited heart? He has a heart. We know it.

I’m one of the trifling women that knows you have excitability that lasts beyond a hook-up. The thing about me though…is I don’t particularly care. If you don’t want me, I’ll start to forget about you. Out of sight out of mind!

Men are cursed nomads, wandering the earth without love in them or loving anyone outside of themselves until they really…do…let themselves receive the gift of loving a woman that is not his mother! and need to be with her. It’s totally up to him. All a woman does is exist as she is. She has no control over his choice…at all.

A woman is always complete in herself, fed, not famished, all by herself. But a man is not. His insatiable lust and thirst that calls forth our pity really, will never be quenched until he lets himself be with her completely. A woman needs to have compassion on his need and fall into his arms if he is unrelenting. And yes, she is feeding him, once again.

A man is truly healed and made happy by truly loving a woman, not so much by her loving him because she loves all the time! That is her gift to herself. Because she exists…he found her and he learns to love. That is the greatest gift a man can have and then he’s no longer famished.

Lisa T. 1/4/2019

 

 

The Womb


dark forest

I’ve known you but a thousand years my love

Your face so rare and calm…

I’ve known you deep inside the walls that push against my scorn.

 

Trenchant waters, tar-like mattes of ribbon sheer and broad,

Stripes form bridges…

Moats to cross…

Transfixed, I hear you call.

 

I know that voice so clear and deep, it beckons me to come,

“Reside with me my love.” “All right.”

The waters surge at dawn.

 

The Night is bright with moonlit sky

I wish it’d go away, to corners webbed and clockwork loose

To trip dimensions throng.

 

Plunge me into silence still embraced by tepid wrong.

Wrong and right eclipse my lungs…

Can’t breathe—

No morals throng.

 

Fear gloats its rabid face…”STOP!” I feign to tell it stunned.

My love lies deep within my heart, unhinged by doom-it runs!

 

Criss-cross sticks form one long bridge

Across the chasm’s face

Tred lightly dear, sing your way through the ache dismissed as day.

 

I’ve known you but a thousand years, this too shall pass away.

Eternity is ours my love.

The womb shall have its way.

 

9/26/09. Kin #66, White 1 Worldbridger (My Tzolkin Analog)

I remember writing this. I was at the end of a marriage and going through the wringer, deeply wanting to find a soulmate or my twin flame. My soul was burning. It was nine years ago and a whole life has happened since. Seems like yesterday.

Blue Night


My heart, in the burning heat of the Sun…stops.

I move on to a peaceful placid place where there is no Sun…Where I can bear my foolish, flickering existence without your blinding light.

I must retreat into my Night.

I am nothing in the face of the Sun and you must continue to burn.

I dare not ask anymore for a cool wind to touch me.

How can I ask for the Sun to cease its mission? And why should I? The Earth needs you.

But I am not all, My life here is not all. I am nothing and more…

My light is as the stars.

They can bear me…and hold me. The stars understand me but the Sun and the Stars share the same Sky.

It is One sky…in Union with The Earth.

You, the Sun.

I, the Stars by Night. One lights the Day, the other The Night.

Let’s be friends and share what we know of existence on this Earth.

For there is no time from whence we came. We are eternal, forever glowing and moving in our way.

Our path is towards eternity.

Our destiny is Life.

May 5, 1988, Red 5 Earth

(I was tuned unconsciously to The Tzolkin. I knew nothing of it in 1988. I lived in California then and had been to Israel in April.  I wrote this after my divorce from Eddie, my 1st husband)

 

Stretched


Wanting more, doing with less,

My mind is stretched past the sun into an abysmal, contorted, apperception too fractured and repetitive to mean what it used to mean.

Meaning is obfuscated because every day I’m in this…protoplasm of lust, whose hands and heartbeats with loving passion, not appetite.

And where am I to go in this quiescent swamp to be fed, nourished, and watered when my mouth can barely open with lips so cracked from the sun that they are silent with the sound that says nothing.

No one really knows me. Only my fingers stretch on the keys to refract a sliver of my pneuma that is groping to be relevant in a world that just needs to…

Ball up, contract, relax and breathe instead of stretching to be noticed by people who don’t even notice the miracle of their own respiring.

shaman-hands-over-sun

Blessings


(I wrote this seven years ago but forgot about it.)

The memories of the past tumble down the hill like rocks and wash over me…

like so many waves that crash on the shore

only to go out to sea to be mixed in with the foam, the seaweed, the plethora of gorgeous salt life that heals and evolves all life.

The salt tears only last one minute to transmit my signal.

The heat, the pulsing in my muscles, the steady beat of my heart in the workout show that the source of being in my blood, my body, and my breath, given to me by this Perfect Earth will erase, heal, and forever dispel the smaller pieces of Earth that are to only be absorbed into all that is.

Bless the body.

Bless the blood.

Bless the heartbeat.

Bless the plants and trees and flowers and small creatures that give us pure, big, joy.

Goddess protect the children from harm through all Mothers and Fathers that honor you…and dispel The Sleep Walking Takers like so many rocks falling into the sea where they too can be transformed by the waves, the salt, and the seaweed given to all as a good gift.

Bless Mother Earth that has given us every good, perfect thing as we travel this elusive journey of pain and death and wake up to Perfection.

©Lisa Townsend, 12/2/11

The sea