Souls Entwined Quotes

But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.

If souls could be mated with wishes, ours would be inextricably entwined.

because two bodies, naked and entwined, leap over time, they are invulnerable, nothing can touch them, they return to the source, there is no you, no I, no tomorrow, no yesterday, no names, the truth of two in a single body, a single soul, oh total being...

Two Trees A portion of your soul has been entwined with mine A gentle kind of togetherness, while separately we stand. As two trees deeply rooted in separate plots of ground, While their topmost branches come together, Forming a miracle of lace against the heavens.

A blind man can see what she feels for you and you for her. Your souls are not merely entwined; they are fused.

Gideon was an untamed animal behind closed doors, a lover who bared me to the soul every time he made love to me.

I don’t think you do. This” –he gestured impatiently at himself– “is just a fucking shell. You’re what drives me, Eva. Can you understand that? You’re my heart and soul. If something ever happened to you it would kill me, too. Keeping you safe is goddamned self-preservation! Tolerate it for me, if you won’t do it for yourself.” I surged into him, knocking him off-balance and onto his back. I kissed him hard, my heart pounding and blood roaring in my ears. “I hate to freak you out,” I murmured between desperate kisses, “but you’ve got it real bad for me.

This—he gestured impatiently at himself—is just a fucking shell. You’re what drives me, Eva. Can you understand that? You’re my heart and soul. If something ever happened to you, it would kill me, too. Keeping you safe is goddamned self-preservation!

We fell asleep as lovers do, listening to the raindrops pitter-patter on the old tin roof, hands entwined and souls secretly smiling.

A kiss-goodnight Can last for hours Moaning into your mouth Licking the sweetness Of my lips Biting softly Holding on To the taste of yours Never wanting To let go Asking you To kiss me forever Asking the goodnight-kiss To become A kiss-good-morning A kiss-I-love-you An entwined faith Of two souls Becoming one In a single moment's kiss...

I Love Loving You You are my favorite song; a rhythm of beauty that captures my spirit. You are my favorite poem; an exquisite grouping of ideas set in motion with an unmatched enchanting elegance. You are my best friend; from our laughter to our deep conversations, our moments together are a timeless pleasure. You are my soul mate; a connection so pure, so powerful, that it can only be considered divine. You are my lover; a passionate entwinement, a chorus of ecstasy, and a feeling of complete unity that words could never adequately describe. You are my angel; you remind me of the goodness in this world and inspire me to be the greatest version of myself. You are my home; it is in your loving gaze that I find the comfort, acceptance, and the sense of belonging. You are my love ~ mi amor; there are not enough days in forever to allow me to fully express my love for you. I love loving you.

She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir.

A song of despair The memory of you emerges from the night around me. The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea. Deserted like the dwarves at dawn. It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! Cold flower heads are raining over my heart. Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked. In you the wars and the flights accumulated. From you the wings of the song birds rose. You swallowed everything, like distance. Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank! It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss. The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse. Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver, turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank! In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded. Lost discoverer, in you everything sank! You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire, sadness stunned you, in you everything sank! I made the wall of shadow draw back, beyond desire and act, I walked on. Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost, I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you. Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness. and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar. There was the black solitude of the islands, and there, woman of love, your arms took me in. There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle. Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms! How terrible and brief my desire was to you! How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid. Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs, still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds. Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs, oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies. Oh the mad coupling of hope and force in which we merged and despaired. And the tenderness, light as water and as flour. And the word scarcely begun on the lips. This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing, and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank! Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you, what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned! From billow to billow you still called and sang. Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel. You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents. Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well. Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank! It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour which the night fastens to all the timetables. The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore. Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate. Deserted like the wharves at dawn. Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands. Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything. It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!

Our hearts created for longing, for loving and coveting from afar. We can’t exist together, can’t breathe if separated, can’t sleep if not entwined. As the birth of a child… Love is forever, but it always leaves a scar.

But hurry! so united, entwined, mouths broken by love and soul bitten, time will find us destroyed

All I know is that when your soul becomes so entwined with another soul that you can't breathe when he's gone, you have become soul-mates. When you can't live without him and he feels the exact same way.

I'm not an advocate of promiscuity; but then I'm also not an advocate of being virginal. It's not like I put virginity or celibacy on a pedestal, and as long as I don't get your promiscuity rubbed into my face— I don't care about it! What I do care about is the ability to recognize the sanctity of a union of two souls— you just can't say your soul isn't being united with others' when you have sex with them. So I think you'd better own up to what you're doing— no matter how frequently or infrequently or with how many different people you do it. I mean, make good choices! You are, after all, entwining your soul with another's.

Before anything," he said as he brought her around to face him, "I want to give you this." Fumbling in his suitcoat, he produced a small package wrapped in brown paper and string, and gave it to Azalea. Curious, she tugged at the strings of the light package until they unkonotted. The paper fell away. It was a silver handkerchief. Supple and soft, just as Mother's had been. In the corner were the ambroidered initials A.K.W. Azalea laughed and cried at once. She threw her arms around Mr. Bradford's neck, wanting to embrace him so deeply she could feel his soul. "Yes," she cried, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" "Well-I-never even said anything," he said. Even so, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. Azalea pressed her cheek into his collar, rumpling it, and breathing into his cravat. It smelled of fresh linen. She felt Mr. Bradford's cheek pressing the top of her head. His lips touched her hair. A muffled voice startled them both. "When are you going to kiss her?" They pulled away.In the ballroom windows, noses and hands pressed against te glass, were the girls. They stood among the prickly rosebushes, beaming wicked little grins. Delphinium and Eve whispered and giggled to each other;Bramble wore a magnificent grin on her face and a spark of light in her yellow-green eyes. Another figure stood among them.This one had his arms folded across his chest, stiff and firm and formal... ...Yet he did not look displeased. "Those rotten little spies!" said Azalea.

Entwining his hands in her hair, he kissed her with all the passion and love he'd kept hidden in his heart for thirty-sex years. Waiting for her. Only for her. As he felt her kiss him back the frozen wall inside him finally broke, allowing life and sun inside his soul. He pulled away, stroking her cheeks as he looked down into her eyes. "I love you, Carrie," he whispered. "I love you.

Namaste means that my soul acknowledges yours - not just your light, your wisdom, your goodness, but also your darkness, your suffering, your imperfections. It is a recognition and acceptance of the inexplicable divine absurdity, the miraculous woven into the ordinary, light and darkness intimately entwined in magical, messy humanity. It means that I honor all that you are with all that I am. So, namaste, my fellow travelers. I'm so glad we're on this trek through the universe together.

His words thrummed in, deep, imprinting themselves on her very deepest, deepest, deep bits. “I believe I am your destiny. You are mine, as I am yours. We shall be one. So one that your air will be mine, your scent mine, your blood will fill my veins, your soul and my soul will entwine together forever. Everything about you, mine.” Wow. “Those little china animals on my mantelpiece?” “Mine.

This—"he gestured impatiently at himself"—is just a fucking shell. You’re what drives me, Eva. Can you understand that? You’re my heart and soul. If something ever happened to you, it would kill me, too. Keeping you safe is goddamned self-preservation!

Wow. Hindsight didn’t just make things crystal clear; it smacked me upside the head and knocked some sense into me. “I get it.” “I don’t think you do. This”—he gestured impatiently at himself—“is just a fucking shell. You’re what drives me, Eva. Can you understand that? You’re my heart and soul. If something ever happened to you, it would kill me, too. Keeping you safe is goddamned self-preservation! Tolerate it for me, if you won’t do it for yourself.” I surged into him, knocking him off-balance and onto his back. I kissed him hard, my heart pounding and blood roaring in my ears. “I hate to freak you out,” I muttered between desperate kisses, “but you’ve got it real bad for me.

Inside her chest, a warm, billowing, something swept through her, to the tips of her fingers, the bottoms of her feet, shining like a brilliant beam of light. It wasn’t hot, boiling feeling of her temper, nor was it the cold wash of tingles that Swearing on Silver brought. It was deeper. It didn’t just pour through her body, but penetrated her soul.

two souls joining on the metaphysical plane while two bodies entwine below.

When you read about sex in books, it’s always described like a magical event, something sacred enacted through the profane: two souls joining on the metaphysical plane while two bodies entwine below.

Language is deeply entwined in the intellectual development of humanity itself, it accompanies the latter upon every step of its localized progression or regression; moreover, the pertinent cultural level in each case is recognizable in it. ... Language is, as it were, the external manifestation of the minds of peoples. Their language is their soul, and their soul is their language. It is impossible to conceive them ever sufficiently identical... . The creation of language is an innate necessity of humanity. It is not a mere external vehicle, designed to sustain social intercourse, but an indispensable factor for the development of human intellectual powers, culminating in the formulation of philosophical doctrine.

With each kiss that we shared we experienced the meaning of love. With the passing glances of passion we surrendered our hearts to the silence of the storm of intoxication. Holding on to each other till the roots of our souls have become entwined in the eternal desire of each other." Poem: "The Silence of Love

When I was on a book tour last year, I saw a sign in a bookstore in a seaside town in Maine that was carefully drawn with popular symbols of coastal living and these words were entwined: Hope anchors the soul. From that childhood that many might call "disadvantaged," I was anchored in the belief that most things are possible.

A vinal shine turns over shades of cerulean and jasper from her expressive lips, revealing a jewel-like surface beneath a light that remains colorfast in a kiss composed of infinite grace. Being in a state of rest, Nadia still makes me the center of attention, dovetailing in an erotic entwinement that impels me to knead her coiling flex. Her resplendent fullness macerated into my bosom now grants me a restful anodyne, enabling the allay of my inner soul.

Raw emotions and the need to hold him close overwhelmed me. Every part of ached for him-my mind, my soul and my body. Without hesitation, i closed the gap between us and pressed my lips eagerly to his. Noah's hands were everywhere, my hair, my face, my back, and for the love of all things holy, my breasts. My hands roamed his glorious body just as greedily. After drugging me with delicious kisses for not nearly long enough, his warm lips skimmed my throat and kissed down the center of my breasts, causing me to arch my back and lose my ever loving mind. Without meaning to, i moaned and whispered his name when his hands wandered to my thighs and set my world and blood on fire. Noah eased me back into the bed and my hair sprawled all around me. "I love how you smell," he whispered as he suckled my earlobe. "I love how beautiful you are." I reclaimed his lips and hooked a leg around his as we moved in rhythm with each other. In between frantic kisses, i whispered the words, "I love you". Because i did. Noah listened to me. He made me laugh and he made me feel special. He was strong and warm and caring and...everything. I loved him. I loved him more than i'd ever loved another person in my life. Every muscle in my body froze when Noah stopped kissing and stare down at me with wide eyes. He caressed my cheek twice over and tilted his head. "Make love to me, Echo. I've never made love." No way. Noah's experienced reputation walked down the hallway before he did. "But..." Noah cut me off with a kiss. "Yes, but never love. Just girls who didn't mean anything" You..." His tongue teased my bottom lip, thawing my body. "Are everything. I got tested over winter break and i'm clean and i've got protection." He reached to the side of the bed and magically produced a small orange square. I froze again. Sensing my hesitation, Noah kissed my lips slowly while stroking my cheek. "And since break?" I asked. "There's been no one," he whispered against my lips. "I met you soon after and i could never think of touching anyone else." I loved him and we were together. I entwined my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back to mine, but the second his hand touched the waist of my jeans, my heart shook and my hands snapped out to stop him. "Please. Wait. Noah..." Oh, God, i was actually going to say it. "I'm a virgin." Now Noah froze. "But you were with Luke." A faint smile grew on my lips. I was typically the tongue-tied one and found it amusing to see him confused for once. "That's why we broke up. I wasn't ready." He shifted his body off of mine and tuckled me close against his warmth. I laid my head on his chest and listened to the comforting sound of his beating heart. Noah ran his hand through my hair. "I'm glad you told me. This needs to be right for you and i'll wait, for as long as you need.

The desire intensified, burned, and consumed us until we let go of the world shattering around us. We surrendered and fell into the sweet abyss of love, our souls entwined, never to be broken on Earth or in Heaven. We were, and forever would be, as one.

Spreading its wings, her love stretched out and touching his tangled, frozen soul and from the first word, became ensnared in its icy grip where it remained, intrinsically entwined within an alternating web of dreams and nightmares. Forever lost, forever lost...

Love isn’t simple. It’s a mind-fuck, filled with irrational reason, driven purely by some possessive animalistic need that sits in the core of all of us. This need to be loved and wanted and…accepted. This desperate need to be entwined with another soul, until you can’t tell yourself apart from them.

One can abort a potential child, but this will not harm the soul, who will seek another more appropriate time or person. Thus, abortion is not an issue for souls; it is more painful for the women on earth, and usually this anguish is more entwined with belief and conditioning than many realize. When I have come across a sad or upset soul in the womb, it is most often due to the parent(s) not wanting the child but having it (the burden) anyway. This is hurtful, and even damaging. We all want to be welcomed, to be loved, wanted and cherished.

What is the age of the soul of man? As she hath the virtue of the chameleon to change her hue at every new approach, to be gay with the merry and mournful with the downcast, so too is her age changeable as her mood. No longer is Leopold, as he sits there, ruminating, chewing the cud of reminiscence, that staid agent of publicity and holder of a modest substance in the funds. He is young Leopold, as in a retrospective arrangement, a mirror within a mirror (hey, presto!), he beholdeth himself. That young figure of then is seen, precociously manly, walking on a nipping morning from the old house in Clambrassil street to the high school, his booksatchel on him bandolierwise, and in it a goodly hunk of wheaten loaf, a mother's thought. Or it is the same figure, a year or so gone over, in his first hard hat (ah, that was a day!), already on the road, a fullfledged traveller for the family firm, equipped with an orderbook, a scented handkerchief (not for show only), his case of bright trinketware (alas, a thing now of the past!), and a quiverful of compliant smiles for this or that halfwon housewife reckoning it out upon her fingertips or for a budding virgin shyly acknowledging (but the heart? tell me!) his studied baisemoins. The scent, the smile but more than these, the dark eyes and oleaginous address brought home at duskfall many a commission to the head of the firm seated with Jacob's pipe after like labours in the paternal ingle (a meal of noodles, you may be sure, is aheating), reading through round horned spectacles some paper from the Europe of a month before. But hey, presto, the mirror is breathed on and the young knighterrant recedes, shrivels, to a tiny speck within the mist. Now he is himself paternal and these about him might be his sons. Who can say? The wise father knows his own child. He thinks of a drizzling night in Hatch street, hard by the bonded stores there, the first. Together (she is a poor waif, a child of shame, yours and mine and of all for a bare shilling and her luckpenny), together they hear the heavy tread of the watch as two raincaped shadows pass the new royal university. Bridie! Bridie Kelly! He will never forget the name, ever remember the night, first night, the bridenight. They are entwined in nethermost darkness, the willer and the willed, and in an instant (fiat!) light shall flood the world. Did heart leap to heart? Nay, fair reader. In a breath 'twas done but - hold! Back! It must not be! In terror the poor girl flees away through the murk. She is the bride of darkness, a daughter of night. She dare not bear the sunnygolden babe of day. No, Leopold! Name and memory solace thee not. That youthful illusion of thy strength was taken from thee and in vain. No son of thy loins is by thee. There is none to be for Leopold, what Leopold was for Rudolph.

He looked like he wanted to say something but his jaw tensed and instead he let his hand travel from my elbow to my hand, the strong pulse from his fingers like a balm to my injured soul. I raised our entwined hands and placed them over the steady thumping of his heart a twin of the rhythm in my own chest. I pressed my head to his chest letting the steady pace of his heart and his citrusy, musky scent envelop me, lull me into a place of security. A place safe enough that I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. I failed to sniff back the tears that began to leak from me.

the Goddess of the Earth. The one who embraces the light of the Sun and the stars: entwining destiny with the patterns of nature. The one who is our body of flesh – and yearning to hold the light of our souls.

Sonnet of the Garland of Roses" A garland, quick, a wreath: I come and die. Braid flowers as they fade. Sing, cry, and sing! Heart in my throat, a storm swelling a gorge shadowed and silvered by a thousand falls. Between your own desire and my desire the space is starry, each step quakes the ground, and forests of anemones will spring to round the year, making their secret sound. Lovers in my wound's landscape, overjoyed, can watch the reeds bend in the crossing currents, can drink from red pools in the honeyed thigh. But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.

And a mere word couldn’t encompass what I felt for her — it couldn’t describe the surety that she and I were meant to be entwined. The wild energy that made up our beings was magnetic, there was no pulling that apart.

As it is, I’m happy to wait all night for you, my love. When you’re ready, we continue.” My love. I turn away from him and close my eyes, breathing through the stretch. I am his love. This is love. This is the holy communion of two souls entwined by love, now joined in the flesh. I want to be worthy of him. I want to be the last piece of his puzzle, as he is surely mine. We’re complete now. Our hearts, our family. One unit, unbreakable.

You might not realize it yet,” he says as he gently touches my chest. “But our roots are already entwined. Our souls are joined together just like the roots on those trees. And as we get to know all of the wonderful details of each other, our branches will be connected to.

She called me her devil and I called her my everything. We clung to each other, sweaty, spent, and forever entwined. My starved heart and soul were gorged to the point of overflowing and every battle I’d ever fought felt like it had been nothing if this was my victory, being here with her.

In a battle of wills, of the gods of old. For each his revenge, will he forfeit his soul. On the chess board of blood, will their narrative play. aged, innocent lives, revenge claims her way. Out of hate will come love, and love will come hate. For immortal and man, have entwined their damned fate.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Live fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turned when he rose!

Not always do those who dare such divine conflict prevail. Night after night the sweat of agony may burst dark on the forehead; the supplicant may cry for mercy with that soundless voice the soul utters when its appeal is to the Invisible. "Spare my beloved," it may implore. "Heal my life's life. Rend not from me what long affection entwines with my whole nature. God of heaven, bend, hear, be clement!" And after this cry and strife the sun may rise and see him worsted. That opening morn, which used to salute him with the whisper of zephyrs, the carol of skylarks, may breathe, as its first accents, from the dear lips which colour and heat have quitted, -- "Oh! I have had a suffering night. This morning I am worse. I have tried to rise. I cannot. Dreams I am unused to have troubled me." Then the watcher approaches the patient's pillow, and sees a new and strange moulding of the familiar features, feels at once that the insufferable moment draws nigh, knows that it is God's will his idol shall be broken, and bends his head, and subdues his soul to the sentence he cannot avert and scarce can bear.

Min Yoongi You were brought into this world in 1993 you didn’t know what you’d grow to be. At that time I was around 6 years old, and I came to learn my life would not be so easy. For 27 years I’d walk alone broken by every stone life threw at me. On the other side of the world you’d also take that beating. I’d search this world high and low for some kind of serenity. Who knew that boy in Daegu would write the peace I was seeking. The link that would bring us together is entwined by the millions. It led me to Agust D in the middle of August. Not being funny that’s the honest truth. I deciphered your words and found my story written in them. Though we walked down different paths I saw myself in you. Everything I felt inside came out through the ink from your pen.

Do you know anything about hearts, Jona? The Senta know hearts. Hearts are not one organ. Inside a mother's womb, two pulsing bags of blood seek their eternal mate." Her hand reached out to his. She opened his palm, and traced a finger down his lifeline, then his loveline. She lifted it up to her own face. She placed it on her cheek. "Lungs are fine apart," she said, "Hands do not need another but to clap. Brains gnarl like roots in the nothing of soul, and guts spin in knots around the nothing of hunger. But hearts are made by two complete parts merging together. Once the two pieces sense each other in the blood flow, they cross every bloody cliff inside of us. The arteries bind the halves close. The veins make love to each other in the life pulse that makes all life from love entwined.

So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir. She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her “Ode to an Expiring Frog,” sir.’ ‘I don’t think I have,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘You astonish me, Sir,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter. ‘It created an immense sensation. It was signed with an “L” and eight stars, and appeared originally in a lady’s magazine.

Everything faded away except one emotion. One so pure and innocent that it seemed intangible. I was encompassed and filled with a sensation that was consuming, warming me throughout. There was a word that was the closest thing to describe it, but the gravity he held of it was so much more than a word could possibly convey. He saw everything I was to God, to this world, to his own heart. Our souls were entwined with it, our destinies written by it, our hearts beat to it. Love.

I don’t know her memories, I don’t know her thoughts, but it’s as if I can peek into her heart and know her, just as she will know me. If she were to turn from me now, I would not bear it. I need her. Without her I cannot exist, because I am no longer an independent entity. I am hers, body and soul, just as it is with every soul-binding. She is my light, she is my air, she is the heart, the soul, the essence – she is home. I may not want to feel this way but the binding has entwined us in an unshakable bond that no being can tear apart.

Love's Retreat" Soul mates of a depth entwined are kindred flames beyond the find who shall be love's caress to know past the flight of Cupid's bow And borrowed from a sonnet's hold of court and spark beyond the fold truth shall be a love divine to wrap around and then entwine For higher love does rise in form with every tenderness to warm past a depth beyond the sea which sanctions kindred flames to be And hearts of many start to sing in sweet refrain as lovers bring a breaking dawn beyond the night from which two hearts begin their flight Soul mates shall forever be the rose within their eyes to see with twin flames reaching higher chord in loving song so much adored For when they merge as sacred one life is spun as comets run and from each kiss of gesture felt heartfelt candles start to melt Borrowed from each touch to own love surmounts the all alone as starlight rainbows cast a gift among the cosmic river drift And there amid a starry night soul mates gather past delight forming higher venture sweet lost in Cupid's love retreat. A V

Muscles contract somewhere above the roof of my mouth, pumping venom into her bloodstream. Kelly cries out, a gasp of pain that turns suddenly to moans of euphoria as the carotids rush the narcotic serum directly to her brain. Her knees buckle, and I reach down to steady her — one arm over her breasts, the other around her waist as I hold her tightly to myself. Then the blood begins to flow, seeping out of the wounds I have made, and I put my lips to her skin and drink. There are no words adequate to describe it. My mind explodes with a wash of light and color, swirling and dancing before my eyes. Then the Sharing truly begins, and I can see inside her: images of her memories, her thoughts, her hopes and dreams, the way she remembers her past and how she imagines her future. Her joys; her grief; that which she loves and that she despises, what stirs her fire and chills her bones. And through it all, I feel the touch of her presence, and I know that she sees the same things inside of me. Blood is more than matter, more than plasma and hemoglobin. Blood is life, the river on which the spirit flows. And as Kelly's blood flows into me, it carries her life with it, until my soul entwines with hers. She has given a part of herself to me, and from this day forth we are bound to each other.

Thus spoke the Beauty and her voice had a cheerful ring, and her face was aflame with a great rejoicing. She finished her story and began to laugh quietly, but not cheerfully. The Youth bowed down before her and silently kissed her hands, inhaling the languid fragrance of myrrh, aloe and musk which wafted from her body and her fine robes. The Beauty began to speak again. 'There came to me streams of oppressors, because my evil, poisonous beauty bewitches them. I smile at them, they who are doomed to death, and I feel pity for each of them, and some I almost loved, but I gave myself to no one. Each one I gave but one single kiss — and my kisses were innocent as the kisses of a tender sister. And whomsoever I kissed, died.' The soul of the troubled Youth was caught in agony, between two quite irresolvable passions, the terror of death and an inexpressible ecstasy. But love, conquering all, overcoming even the anguish of death's grief, was triumphant once again today. Solemnly stretching out his trembling hands to the tender and terrifying Beauty, the Youth exclaimed, 'If death is in your kiss, o beloved, let me revel in the infinity of death. Cling to me, kiss me, love me, envelop me with the sweet fragrance of your poisonous breath, death after death pour into my body and into my soul before you destroy everything that once was me!' 'You want to! You are not afraid!' exclaimed the Beauty. The face of the Beauty was pale in the rays of the lifeless moon, like a guttering candle, and the lightning in her sad and joyful eyes was trembling and blue. With a trusting movement, tender and passionate, she clung to the Youth and her naked, slender arms were entwined about his neck. 'We shall die together!' she whispered. 'We shall die together. All the poison of my heart is afire and flaming streams are rushing through my veins, and I am all enveloped in some great holocaust.' 'I am aflame!' whispered the Youth, 'I am being consumed in your embraces and you and I are two flaming fires, burning with the immense ecstasy of a poisonous love.' The sad and lifeless moon grew dim and fell in the sky — and the black night came and stood watch. It concealed the secret of love and kisses, fragrant and poisonous, with gloom and solitude. And it listened to the harmonious beating of two hearts growing quieter, and in the frail silence it watched over the final delicate sighs. And so, in the poisonous Garden, having breathed the fragrances which the Beauty breathed, and having drunk the sweetness of her love so tenderly and fatally compassionate, the beautiful Youth died. And on his breast the Beauty died, having delivered her poisonous but fragrant soul up to sweet ecstasies. ("The Poison Garden")

Too much bergamot in this one, too tart; no depth in this one; bring forward the orange blossom. Measuring out drops from several vials, she blended another variation, leaning heavily on her keen intuition. Inhaling, she let her mind wander, visualizing the aromatic impression. She was on the verge of discovery. An ethereal freshness with subtle spiciness, like the voluptuous scent of orange blossoms on a sunny spring morning. The hair on her arms bristled with anticipation. She inhaled again, going farther, detecting the bouquet of jasmine absolute and rose attar, rich and silky, entwined with a spicy note of carnation, adding verve and vitality, robust brilliance. It needs a splash of complexity here, a sprig of basil there, an accent of clove. Images of lovers danced in her mind, a soaring sonata thrilled in her soul. A vision intruded, no, a memory- she was dancing with Jon, resting her head on his shoulder, a salty hint of ocean, breathing in his scent, intoxicated with the musky, virile smell of his skin... Another breath and she dragged her thoughts back, delving deeper into the essence. The mystery of amber to balance the soul; the silky smoothness of sandalwood; the delicious lure of vanilla, like a lover's midnight embrace. An ache grew within her at the core of her being. And in her mind's eye, veiled visions of a moonlit night, a couple dancing barefoot on the beach, swirling silks of scarlet and gold, the sultry caress of a whisper, so vivid she trailed her fingers along the nape of her neck, remembering... Seductive, sensual, the essence of amour.

Your character and soul, intelligence and creativity, love and experiences, goodness and talents, your bright and lovely self are entwined with your body, and she has delivered the whole of you to this very day. What a partner! She has been a home for your smartest ideas, your triumphant spirit, your best jokes. You haven’t gotten anywhere you’ve ever gone without her. She has served you well. Your body walked with you all the way through childhood—climbed the trees and rode the bikes and danced the ballet steps and walked you into the first day of high school. How else would you have learned to love the smell of brownies, toasted bagels, onions and garlic sizzling in olive oil? Your body perfectly delivered the sounds of Stevie Wonder, Whitney Houston, and Bon Jovi right into your memories. She gave you your first kiss, which you felt on your lips and in your stomach, a coordinated body venture. She drove you to college and hiked the Grand Canyon. She might have carried your backpack through Europe and fed you croissants. She watched Steel Magnolias and knew right when to let the tears fall. Maybe your body walked you down the aisle and kissed your person and made promises and threw flowers. Your body carried you into your first big interview and nailed it—calmed you down, smiled charmingly, delivered the right words. Sex? That is some of your body’s best work. Your body might have incubated, nourished, and delivered a whole new human life, maybe even two or three. She is how you cherish the smell of those babies, the feel of their cheeks, the sound of them calling your name. How else are you going to taste deep-dish pizza and French onion soup? You have your body to thank for every good thing you have ever experienced. She has been so good to you. And to others. Your body delivered you to people who needed you the exact moment you showed up. She kissed away little tears and patched up skinned knees. She holds hands that need holding and hugs necks that need hugging. Your body nurtures minds and souls with her presence. With her lovely eyes, she looks deliberately at people who so deeply need to be seen. She nourishes folks with food, stirring and dicing and roasting and baking. Your body has sat quietly with sad, sick, and suffering friends. She has also wrapped gifts and sent cards and sung celebration songs to cheer people on. Her face has been a comfort. Her hands will be remembered fondly—how they looked, how they loved. Her specific smell will still be remembered in seventy years. Her voice is the sound of home. You may hate her, but no one else does.

Amar reached out to cup the back of my neck. I shuddered. I had forgotten how cold his hands were, like the soul of winter had tangled itself in his fingers. He stared at me and his gaze had all the finality of death--it was ferocious and terrible, a ravel of locked horns. He was searching me. I knew exactly what he was looking for-- Himself. I twined the bracelet together, letting it hover mere inches from his skin. I had no expectation, no method, no strategy. I was blind and clinging to a bruised piece of hope. But it was all I had. “You once said your soul could never forget mine,” I said, sliding the mended bracelet around his wrist. “Do you remember now?” He inhaled sharply, like something had rent through him. Around his wrist, the bracelet glowed like a caught star. “Jaani,” he breathed, staring at me. He clutched his chest, an amazed smile turning his face incandescent. I grinned so widely that I thought the air would bend around us, pushing us together. His fingers entwined in my hair and he tilted my face up.

Tonight, an old ache awakens within me, a yearning that threads through my veins like a distant song. I am consumed by a passion that seizes every corner of my soul, an urgent fire that longs to be stoked by your touch. The thought of you ignites a blaze that refuses to be contained, a hunger for the nights we could share, where our bodies speak the language of longing, and every moment is a tender exploration of desire. I feel us entwined already, as if our souls have danced together before. Without you, I wander in a sea of echoes, lost in the silent spaces where your presence should be. You are not just a lover; you are the very pulse of my heart. In your embrace, I find a completeness that words cannot capture, a connection that feels ancient and profound— a bond that burns fiercely, beautifully, even as it breaks my heart. Please, let us come together soon. I am aching with a fervor that only you can soothe, burning with a passion that is both a comfort and a torment, an insatiable need to be near you, to lose myself in the warmth of our union. All I desire is to be with you, to surrender to the depth of our shared longing, for you are the world to me, the fire that lights my darkest nights.

France is to me the only country in the world. She has experienced everything. But it is in little things that she is great—in tenderness, in patience, in reverence. France does not lust to dominate the world. She is like a woman, rather, who seduces you. She is not even a beautiful woman at first sight. But she knows how to entwine herself in your affections. She reveals herself slowly, circumspectly, always holding back the real charm, the real treasures, until the moment when they will be justly appreciated. She does not fling herself at you like a whore. The soul of France is chaste and pure, like a flower. We are reticent not out of timidity but because we have much to give. France is an inexhaustible treasure vault and we, the people of France, are the humble guardians of that great treasure. We are not generous like you—perhaps because what we possess we have gained through great suffering. Every inch of our soil has been fought over time and again. If we love our soil, as few people in the world do, it is because it has been well watered by the blood of our forefathers. To you it may seem like a small life that we lead but to us it is deep and rich—especially to us who live in the provinces. I have lived in Paris and I adore it, but this is the real life here among the people of the soil. We are bored sometimes, it is true, but that passes. We remain French—that is the important thing.

I want to lie beside you and know the weight of your dreams,” he said, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I want to share whole worlds with you and write your name in the stars.” He moved closer and a chorus of songbirds twittered silver melodies. “I want to measure eternity with your laughter.” Now, he stood inches from me; his rough hands encircled my waist. “Be my queen and I promise you a life where you will never be bored. I promise you more power than a hundred kings. And I promise you that we will always be equals.” I grinned. “Not my soul then, Dharma Raja?” “Would you entrust me with something so precious?” I was silent for a moment before reaching for my foot and slipping off the worn slipper. “Here, my love, the dowry of a sole.” I began to laugh, giddily, drunkenly, before he swallowed my laughter in a kiss. I melted against him, arcing into the enclosure of his arms, my breath catching as his fingers entwined in the down of my hair. The music of the songbirds could not compare to the euphony billowing inside me, pressing against my bones and manifesting in a language of gentle touch. In Naraka, he drew me into the small universe of his embrace, laying kisses at my neck, the inside of my wrists, the dip in my abdomen. Now, the hum had settled to a lustrous melody, ribboning us like silk. And when we clung together, we drank in the other’s gaze, reveling in the secret hope and happiness that blossomed in the space between our lips.

It's hard to form a lasting connection when your permanent address is an eight-inch mailbox in the UPS store. Still,as I inch my way closer, I can't help the way my breath hitches, the way my insides thrum and swirl. And when he turns,flashing me that slow, languorous smile that's about to make him world famous,his eyes meeting mine when he says, "Hey,Daire-Happy Sweet Sixteen," I can't help but think of the millions of girls who would do just about anything to stand in my pointy blue babouches. I return the smile, flick a little wave of my hand, then bury it in the side pocket of the olive-green army jacket I always wear. Pretending not to notice the way his gaze roams over me, straying from my waist-length brown hair peeking out from my scarf, to the tie-dyed tank top that clings under my jacket,to the skinny dark denim jeans,all the way down to the brand-new slippers I wear on my feet. "Nice." He places his foot beside mine, providing me with a view of the his-and-hers version of the very same shoe. Laughing when he adds, "Maybe we can start a trend when we head back to the States.What do you think?" We. There is no we. I know it.He knows it.And it bugs me that he tries to pretend otherwise. The cameras stopped rolling hours ago, and yet here he is,still playing a role. Acting as though our brief, on-location hookup means something more. Acting like we won't really end long before our passports are stamped RETURN. And that's all it takes for those annoyingly soft girly feelings to vanish as quickly as a flame in the rain. Allowing the Daire I know,the Daire I've honed myself to be, to stand in her palce. "Doubtful." I smirk,kicking his shoe with mine.A little harder then necessary, but then again,he deserves it for thinking I'm lame enough to fall for his act. "So,what do you say-food? I'm dying for one of those beef brochettes,maybe even a sausage one too.Oh-and some fries would be good!" I make for the food stalls,but Vane has another idea. His hand reaches for mine,fingers entwining until they're laced nice and tight. "In a minute," he says,pulling me so close my hip bumps against his. "I thought we might do something special-in honor of your birthday and all.What do you think about matching tattoos?" I gape.Surely he's joking. "Yeah,you know,mehndi. Nothing permanent.Still,I thought it could be kinda cool." He arcs his left brow in his trademark Vane Wick wau,and I have to fight not to frown in return. Nothing permanent. That's my theme song-my mission statement,if you will. Still,mehndi's not quite the same as a press-on. It has its own life span. One that will linger long after Vane's studio-financed, private jet lifts him high into the sky and right out of my life. Though I don't mention any of that, instead I just say, "You know the director will kill you if you show up on set tomorrow covered in henna." Vane shrugs. Shrugs in a way I've seen too many times, on too many young actors before him.He's in full-on star-power mode.Think he's indispensable. That he's the only seventeen-year-old guy with a hint of talent,golden skin, wavy blond hair, and piercing blue eyes that can light up a screen and make the girls (and most of their moms) swoon. It's a dangerous way to see yourself-especially when you make your living in Hollywood. It's the kind of thinking that leads straight to multiple rehab stints, trashy reality TV shows, desperate ghostwritten memoirs, and low-budget movies that go straight to DVD.

Summer spirit, now she closes book’s end, Days of youth spent, carefree with friends. Kari plays now to that what she does not wish, Lost summers days and angelic youth a’ missed. Seasons do change and children grow up, Passing through lives, life never stops. Endless years, bleak they the mind, Adventures of youth, throttle in time. Desires entwine, one grows old, Love loses her grasp, love slips from her hold. Bygone dreams, sleep they soundly by, Hopes for another child, not her soul-self I. Grasped for never, dreams never learn to fly (Within one’s dungeon, the darkest place to die). And Winter’s chill, lays she to rest, Dreams unobtained, fallen in the quest. Kari knew she was but a dream, solo in its flight, Ne’er taking wing again to caress innocence’s light. And to live and live as she once is and now, Stands she forever, stranded on time’s fallowed ground. The love she lost she can never now have, Graspless eternity plucked burning from her hands. Love forsaken, the summer, silent and high, Tears shed for what was once and not now, I. Dreamless hopes far long spent, Lie shallow within, deep strength relents. A hollow traverse of endless life, Lives she the knowing of eternalness light. Aye, silent dreams slip they the day’s long night, To tell of loves once beholden now lost in her sight. In love’s abandonment, Kari, spills she away, To dream upon those clouds again on some somber, summer day. Thus, before evening rusts corrode the golden days, Before innocence is raped and youth spirited away, Before night blossoms forth, and day forgets day, Summer’s love requests of us that we all do stay– To hear a tale one has long since heard before, To tell our souls twice over now and forevermore– Graves are full of those who never lived but could, Heaven and Hell are packed with those who knew they should, And eternity, relentless eternity, brims with those that would.

SEA” Sounds of the Pacific Ocean at Big Sur “SEA” Cherson! Cherson! You aint just whistlin Dixie, Sea— Cherson! Cherson! We calcimine fathers here below! Kitchen lights on— Sea Engines from Russia seabirding here below— When rocks outsea froth I’ll know Hawaii cracked up & scramble up my doublelegged cliff to the silt of a million years— Shoo—Shaw—Shirsh— Go on die salt light You billion yeared rock knocker Gavroom Seabird Gabroobird Sad as wife & hill Loved as mother & fog Oh! Oh! Oh! Sea! Osh! Where’s yr little Neppytune tonight? These gentle tree pulp pages which’ve nothing to do with yr crash roar, liar sea, ah, were made for rock tumble seabird digdown footstep hollow weed move bedarvaling crash? Ah again? Wine is salt here? Tidal wave kitchen? Engines of Russia in yr soft talk— Les poissons de la mer parle Breton— Mon nom es Lebris de Keroack— Parle, Poissons, Loti, parle— Parlning Ocean sanding crash the billion rocks— Ker plotsch— Shore—shoe— god—brash— The headland looks like a longnosed Collie sleeping with his light on his nose, as the ocean, obeying its accomodations of mind, crashes in rhythm which could & will intrude, in thy rhythm of sand thought— —Big frigging shoulders on that sonofabitch Parle, O, parle, mer, parle, Sea speak to me, speak to me, your silver you light Where hole opened up in Alaska Gray—shh—wind in The canyon wind in the rain Wind in the rolling rash Moving and t wedel Sea sea Diving sea O bird—la vengeance De la roche Cossez Ah Rare, he rammed the gate rare over by Cherson, Cherson, we calcify fathers here below —a watery cross, with weeds entwined—This grins restoredly, low sleep—Wave—Oh, no, shush—Shirk—Boom plop Neptune now his arms extends while one millions of souls sit lit in caves of darkness —What old bark? The dog mountain? Down by the Sea Engines? God rush—Shore— Shaw—Shoo—Oh soft sigh we wait hair twined like larks—Pissit—Rest not —Plottit, bisp tesh, cashes, re tav, plo, aravow, shirsh,—Who’s whispering over there—the silly earthen creek! The fog thunders—We put silver light on face—We took the heroes in—A billion years aint nothing— O the cities here below! The men with a thousand arms! the stanchions of their upward gaze! the coral of their poetry! the sea dragons tenderized, meat for fleshy fish— Navark, navark, the fishes of the Sea speak Breton— wash as soft as people’s dreams—We got peoples in & out the shore, they call it shore, sea call it pish rip plosh—The 5 billion years since earth we saw substantial chan—Chinese are the waves—the woods are dreaming

Where the mind is without pain Where knowledge is gain; With you, life is not vain Where hate is a burden Faith in humanity is not entwine The traces of you is me I am you and you are me Where dreams are not met Where the sun set and yet; we still strive towards perfection; Where the clear stream of democracy has not lost its way into a struggling nation frozen snow of dead end; The traces of you is found with in young soul that rise up with faith and knowing that positive activism is the way to create a just society.

Maybe Logan and I were connected somehow, more than just a boy and a girl in love. Maybe our souls were entwined--if he hurt, I hurt. If he stopped breathing, I did, too. If he died, maybe I would die with him.

She hated feeling helpless. It writhed in her stomach, choking her with thoughts of dancing the rest of her life in the arms of a gentleman who pushed her about and laughed when she stumbled or, worse, didn't even look at her at all. She wondered if she would be able to give the Soul's Curtsy, with all her heart and soul, to anyone, and the thought made her ill.

I’ve not only loved you in this lifetime...but all my lives before. Our souls are entwined for infinity.

mate. He’d held me all night, tucked against his chest, his wing draped over me. A different sort of intimacy than the sex—deeper. Our souls entwined, holding tight.

Stephen reached out to her then, entwined her fingers in his. "It was not difficult for me. You must understand that. For me, it was an easy choice, for it was the only choice." "I know," she said again, and coming into his arms she clung tightly, resting her cheek against his chest as she sought to comprehend the ultimate irony, she who had no irony at all in her soul, that the qualities she most loved in Stephen were the very ones that were crippling his kingship.

The love of God should bind us, not blind us ! In the devotion of another soul, we reach the depths of our own. In the tears of another being, we perceive the anguish buried in our soul. We lift ourselves, when we lift another and hurt ourselves when we hurt others. Our lives are entwined and so are our souls.

Mark these words, avenge thy crime, Bound by blood in space and time. From kin to kin one wretched vine, A wicked curse seals a shaded line. What was denied shall now be taken, For when thee love thee turn forsaken. Deep in thee veins thy soul will burn, Forever more thy thirst shall yearn. Breath by breath thy mind unwound, To madness now thy life is drowned. And if fate shall deem thy love requited, Don’t speak the words or curse the blighted. For if on the wrist thy souls entwined, Death shall call and forever find.” Those words rang through my mind constantly. “I know the bloody curse.

He’d held me all night, tucked against his chest, his wing draped over me. A different sort of intimacy than the sex—deeper. Our souls entwined, holding tight. I’d awoken to his wing still over me, his breath tickling my ear. My throat had closed up as I’d studied his sleeping face, my chest tightening to the point of pain. I was well aware how wildly I loved him, but looking at him then … I felt it in every pore of my body, felt it as if it might crush me, consume me.

In the neon-lit arteries of existence, splice our souls, entwined in weak flesh and this glitched tapestry of reality. A poetic dance unfolds—a symphony of connection, transcending the binary code, echoing in the opera of our intertwined destinies.

He’d held me all night, tucked against his chest, his wing draped over me. A different sort of intimacy than the sex—deeper. Our souls entwined, holding tight.

There’s romance in tragedy, don’t you think? The two are inextricably entwined. What is romance, love, without the threat of imminent ruin? We give our souls to another person when surely the only possible end is sorrow. For one of us at least.

As a totem animal, harkening to the ugly duckling tale, they are symbolic of transformation and the realization of our true beauty and grace. Further, they are associated with romantic love; the image of two swans with their necks entwined or forming a heart-shape often represents love.

And, though her soul was in her body and my soul was in mine, they were both still together and... Entwined.

In a world where hearts entwine, A love story, sweet and divine. In the gentle drizzle, we find, Affection's touch, in love, we're twined. Above, clouds tenderly pair, Sharing soft embraces in the air. Waltz with me in the rain, No words are needed to explain. Once our worlds collided, fate in play, A rare connection, sweetness to stay. Your love, a caress so light, Healing wounds in soothing night. In emotions' dance, uncertain ground, In your awareness, solace found. Lost in time, a bit astray, Let your voice guide my way. A wanderer in love's vastness, On love's shelf, in sweet distress. Hold me close in pure light, Guard my heart through the night. In your gaze, my forever lies, Journey or destination, love defies. Guide me, love, console my soul, In raindrops, our love takes its toll. Clouds heavy with grace, Pour affection in this space. Dance with me, embrace the weather, Our love endures, forever. Our worlds blended in the rain, A serendipitous union, love's sweet gain. Your touch, an artistry healing, A "marham" on my heart, revealing.

Within The Self, where sight and soul entwine; through the prism of perception, you find your line. Your soul is powerful, and radiant, there, in the light of your ego’s flame. So what if you let it glow with essence, pure, devoid of shame!?

We danced in anticipation of adulthood's embrace, Now we linger, weary, in a labyrinth of haze. Lost souls, entwined in the web of time's chase, Anxious hearts, yearning for moments of grace.

Do you think we’ll grow old together?” Bella asks, deep in thought, as we walk hand in hand along the shore, letting the waves crash against our now bare feet. “Of course we will. Our love is eternal, and even when we’re both long gone from each other, I’ll still love you from heaven. Our hearts and souls are forever entwined. Sometimes I feel like our futures were written in the stars long before we ever met,” I confess, pulling her close to me and kissing her passionately.

Many years ago, I met the most wonderful girl who saw behind the broken boy in front of her, the boy I desperately wanted to be. She showed me true love and friendship for the first time in my life, and like the sun, she lit up that boy’s dark, dark world. And though I had nothing in the world to give this beautiful soul, she still found it in her heart to offer me everything she had in the form of kind words and friendship. Even after my father tried to tear us apart by throwing those words into the fire, that little bond of friendship survived. Like some kind of phoenix from the ashes, this small friendship bracelet survived too. It was broken and damaged, but still worth saving, just like me. So, while the word friendship may have been destroyed, I carry it next to my heart to remind me that what started as a friendship would hopefully one day become forever.

There's romance in tragedy, don't you think? The two are inextricably entwined. What is romance, love, without the threat of imminent ruin? We give out souls to another person when surely the only possible end is sorrow.

Tharion withdrew. Lidia shook with rage and power. Tharion could feel it shuddering around him, rising up like a behemoth from the deep. What had that antidote woken in her? What had been taken during the Drop? And what had lain dormant, all this time? His water seemed to quail at it—like it knew something he didn’t. “You’re here,” Pollux said. “I can sense your soul nearby. It is entwined with mine, you know.” Lidia’s teeth flashed, her power growing around them like a physical presence. Tharion sliced his hand in front of them, indicating that she should stand down. Until he had a clear shot at the Hammer, they couldn’t give away their position— “Very well,” Pollux said. A whistle through his teeth, and a door down the hall groaned open. Footsteps sounded, approaching them, approaching Pollux.

Some people are written in the stars, some their souls are linked and entwined from the very beginning and for some, love is nothing but a disaster. I was the gasoline; she was the flame. We were always going to cause a catastrophic wake in our paths. I had found my person.

Time seemed to halt, and the room became a cocoon of intense emotions, our souls entwined in a dance that spanned an eternity yet felt like mere moments.

In the dance of moonlight and darkness, where love intertwined with survival, two souls found their destiny entwined, proving that even in the heart of chaos, true love could thrive

I have slain myself artfully! In shadows deep, beyond repair. A dance of wounds, an art refined, A masterpiece, my soul entwined

A pas de deux is more than just a partnered dance. Two souls. One body. Entwining together and weaving a story--- evoking a sensation, a memory, a thought. I shut my eyes, remembering how Damien laid me upon the petals and joined his soul with mine. In the heat of summer, he vowed to love me, and we became a part of each other. We separate, taking our places across the sea. The tension pent up inside my body slips away as the darkness spills into the water. My dance was always powerful, even when I'm imperfect and fragile and completely surrendered. I know that now. I fall into my adagio, weightless. Technique no longer matters. Instead, I'm passive to the waves, allowing the current to spin me in pirouettes. The darkness fans out, blooming like a flower. As I lunge into an arabesque, my fingertips release a nebula. Stars explode across the darkness and create my own galaxy. I fall into a piqué manège, birthing stardust strokes. With quick bourrée steps, constellations sprout across the sea. The water illuminates as I leap into a grand jeté, sending shooting stars as I fly. The sirens coo, and I welcome them to join me. They spin tendrils of gold into the darkness, using their fish tails like paintbrushes. As they circle me, the ragged dress I wear transforms into a glittering gown, reflecting rainbows when hit by the light. Finally, I embrace the angel I always was. Filling the distance between me and Damien, I leap into his arms. When he catches me, his darkness feathers into the sea. We entwine, twirling in a whirlpool as the sirens hold us in a glittering lattice.

Entwined with magic, lost to days. If wind or rain or skies do blaze. I call to you as all become one. Merge these damaged souls until the end of days.

INFINITE GRACE   Lying here in each other’s arms I acknowledge the fact that she completes me. Her slim deerlike physique clings to me nestled inside of my embrace. Her lovely hair is strewn down her face and onto mine as soft as the flower that she does move across my face and neck. A vinal shine turns over shades of cerulean and jasper from her expressive lips revealing a jewel-like surface beneath a light that remains colorfast in a kiss composed of infinite grace. Being in a state of rest she still makes me the center of attention, dovetailing in an erotic entwinement that impels me to knead her coiling flex. Her resplendent fullness macerated into my bosom grants me a restful anodyne enabling the allay of my inner soul. My touch gently hydrofoils over her jawline and jugular, sending her body into a medley of resonant intensity. My kiss now impregnates her inner soul and heart with a limn love of the mind’s eye.

Love isn’t simple. It’s a mind-fuck, filled with irrational reason, driven purely by some possessive animalistic need that sits in the core of all of us. This need to be loved and wanted and… accepted. This desperate need to be entwined with another soul, until you can’t tell yourself apart from them.

Certain moments in life become etched in your soul.  For me, I have merely a handful.  Buried deep, they’re entwined, tangled, and even disheveled.  Living together forever, they create who we are and how we see the world.  More so, how we react to it, even live within it.  Much like the vines that create my wine, it’s hard to see where one ends and the other begins. 

Double prehistory of good and evil. The concept of good and evil has a double prehistory: namely, first of all, in the soul of the ruling clans and castes. The man who has the power to requite goodness with goodness, evil with evil, and really does practice requital by being grateful and vengeful, is called "good." The man who is unpowerful and cannot requite is taken for bad. As a good man, one belongs to the "good," a community that has a communal feeling, because all the individuals are entwined together by their feeling for requital. As a bad man, one belongs to the "bad," to a mass of abject, powerless men who have no communal feeling. The good men are a caste; the bad men are a multitude, like particles of dust. Good and bad are for a time equivalent to noble and base, master and slave. Conversely, one does not regard the enemy as evil: he can requite. In Homer, both the Trojan and the Greek are good. Not the man who inflicts harm on us, but the man who is contemptible, is bad. In the community of the good, goodness is hereditary; it is impossible for a bad man to grow out of such good soil. Should one of the good men nevertheless do something unworthy of good men, one resorts to excuses; one blames God, for example, saying that he struck the good man with blindness and madness. Then, in the souls of oppressed, powerless men, every other man is taken for hostile, inconsiderate, exploitative, cruel, sly, whether he be noble or base. Evil is their epithet for man, indeed for every possible living being, even, for example, for a god; "human," "divine" mean the same as "devilish," "evil." Signs of goodness, helpfulness, pity are taken anxiously for malice, the prelude to a terrible outcome, bewilderment, and deception, in short, for refined evil. With such a state of mind in the individual, a community can scarcely come about at all--or at most in the crudest form; so that wherever this concept of good and evil predominates, the downfall of individuals, their clans and races, is near at hand. Our present morality has grown up on the ground of the ruling clans and castes.

Intimacy, respect, passion, communication... and endless laughter. You and me on our personal journeys... while also entwined in the "us". That's a life and soul-nourishing relationship. The rest is empty nonsense I've already had. When one of those is missing, drama takes its place. I'm not settling for less... Never again.

We had no need of voices to say the truth in that moment, for we were linked mind and body and soul, attuned, attached, One. Merged. Enmeshed. A tree growing from one root, split into two trunks, entwined and woven one around the other, reaching together heavenward.

My lover’s alluring propensities took on a vivacity I had difficulty conceding. His passion magnified a thousand-fold within my consciousness as I closed my eyes to this wanton dexterity. I desired him, and he wanted me. Under this euphoric ecstasy, I relinquished my person to his coveted demands.               My Apollo, my Phoebus, who never failed to brighten my person and radiate my soul, had coiled me into his solicitous web of ardent devotion. My coverings fell away with every inhalation of his loving elixir. My lover had exposed my nakedness to the gazing eyes of the unseen voyeur and stalker. They alone were granted dispensation to witness the audacity between my lover and me.               Our fiery gazes never left or strayed from each other. Bewitched by his blueish-green eyes, my soul was bare to him. His oral stimulation had fostered me to arch my back in a balletic pose as his hands supported the small of my back. Watched through the submerged glass, we felt like Poseidon’s pleasure slaves, performing solely for his gratification. I was awed by our agility and reminded of a supple aquatic dance performance I had witnessed during my extensive travels. My former ballet training surged through me as I saw myself swirling and pirouetting across the room, and Andy’s thickness gyrated within the core of my being. The ecstasy and the agony of my dance pedagogy had transformed into the art of intercourse. The grace of movement and the beauty of love had merged into a seraphic epiphany – a unity of the Godhead within and without.               At the precise moment of our orgasmic exultations, I finally grasped my chaperone’s universal knowledge: that the divine and I are but one and the same. It was then I comprehended my guardian’s god-like comportment. Andy knew his birth-right, and he wore his divinity with pride and honour. All of that I saw in him as it came gushing to the forefront. He was indeed a Phoebus Apollo, a sun god beheld in a darkened chamber. There and then, I made a secret covenant to myself, like an apostle to the Son of God - I would follow in his footsteps.               My Valet’s sanctity swirled within me, flooding my kernel with beatific sows of celestial grace. Overjoyed by his tokens of affection, I too released my passion into his garnering gulf. Streams of my succulent splendour oozed from his enticing lips. It was only when we shared the final droplets of my luscious deposits that he liberated his engorgement from my sopping honeycomb. I supped at his dripping remains before sharing my fill with him, so we could both partake in this sexual liturgy of heavenly Eucharist.               We did not relinquish our performance after the lights and music had disappeared, but remained entwined in darkness, savouring the inseparable devotion that had once been the domain of Apollo and his beloved Hyacinth.

For every now and then, Let go of all the burden, For us to fantasize the life in Gardens of Eden, Little did I know that it is only a myth and so where is the path ? In every a little bit of love is woven and is all handmaiden, While letting you to watch me rot when there is no embolden, How i wish the idea of love is as olden, For our souls to be entwined and live as if the days are still golden...

Secrets, like invisible snakes, can slither, coil and entwine themselves leaving a serpentine trail throughout our souls. We can mentally ignore the small garden-variety secrets, with ease into our daily lives. While some are like cobras, their venom poisoning every daily thought and interaction with friends and family. They are spirit crushers that suck the joy out of us until we contemplate suicide or turn inward to madness. Secrets kept with the best of intentions, can resurface and become lethal to those they were meant to protect. Family secrets are the most venomous of all.

I love you, Luna. When I saw you for the first time, I had this knowing, this certainty that you were the love of my life. No, it’s beyond love. When my eyes found yours, my entire being connected to you. I could feel parts of my soul twisting, stretching like tentacles, reaching for yours. I felt my flesh prickling, my heart expanding, making room for yours. I knew then, what I’m telling you now, Luna. Without you, I’m condemned to a lonely existence. To a meaningless life. You are entwined with the deepest parts of me. You are ingrained in my body, mind, and soul.