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| Yes, I am someone else, somewhere else, but here, now, I am for him. I am his Captive Dulcinea.
Ah, sweet sovereign of my captive heart, I shall not fail thee for I know...
I have dreamed thee too long,
Never seen thee or touched thee.
But known thee with all of my heart.
Half a prayer, half a song,
Thou has always been with me,
Though we have been always apart,
Dulcinea...Dulcinea
I gently curtsy, glancing shyly up at him, then stay on my knees, knowing I am safe now.
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Have you ever noticed it's either feast or famine? One moment wolves scratching at your door, the next, feeling as if you are the last one leaving the party, oh do please remember to turn off the lights and lock the door on your way out. I'll take the wolves. |
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A couple weeks ago, I read an interesting dominant's profile. Well written, articulate, and thoughtful. So he sees I have looked at his profile and sends me a sound a person makes, not a word mind you, a sound. I ask him to elaborate, thinking he's being at the least, humorous. But no, this man cannot put two words together, speaks of himself in the 3rd person, etc. I hope whoever he paid to write his profile, got enough money for it. |
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safe~adjective protected from or not exposed to danger or risk, not likely to be harmed or lost. secure, sheltered, guarded. For me, able to take a deep clear breath knowing someone has my back, indeed, someone holds everything I am in the palm of their hand. It's been a while... |
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I went to one of the Women's Marches today, an overwhelming experience. So much love and kindness for each other. This is just the beginning, women will end him. |
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tonight, he held my coat for me, gently, as I slid my arms inside. But then later, his hands in my hair, barely contained, he whispered... "MINE"! And from behind, wrapped his arms around me, dwarfing me, holding me still. Joy! |
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My knight in un shinning armor,
a missing rivet here, a hole there.
Lots of rust and grime from long roads
traveled mostly on foot.
Take off your gloves,
so you can hold my hand.
I hear your hearts muffled beating
beneath the crumbling metal.
There are no more windmills to tilt,
come rest a while with me,
please lay down your sword.
I'll make supper. |
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