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CALLASSA

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Bed of Roses

Written by Callassa for her curly baby love

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Soft, whispering, my voice hanging in the air, ethereal, as a spiders web when held in the dew and the afternoon sun, “My adored, my beautiful baby, why do you disappear?”

Long hours had passed since our bed of passion, set with rose petals and before the tall windows open to the summer garden. I had left all of that and now I was returned again. Yes here, I say, returned to this state of complete want. As I exhale I can taste you upon my breath. I am breathing you into the air. The mixture being caused is as the sweetest of music, the sound moving as a shimmer in this red space. Your aromatic flavour is upon my face and hands.

“Breath you. Breath you, ever more deeply. Baby. I am sorry, I sleep too long.”

The red petals are adhered to my hand, see they never fall.

   “We are much more familiar now,” I said and while turning myself so to lay with my head propped by a hand. My red hair now thick, loosened upon my breasts. Do explore the exaggeration of my thigh that my posture is holding. I am alighted. I am desiring you again. You know, yes you do because there is no other condition.”

   “Yes, we are familiar now.” Your reply being to my statement of our union. Union, I asked myself, as if any word has the fullness of what I mean.

   “Hmmm.” In my languor, I am staring deeply into you and I want your thoughts. I want to collect each one and hold them all inside myself, wrapped in the essence of woman, to be still, preserved.

   “In you,” said I. “In you my darling, there are forests, filled with red leaves, always red leaves, even during winter months. Red leaves … Always red leaves.”

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(c) July MMXXIV

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CALLASSA

Invicta Veritate