I am a sensual creature. I make no apologies for this truth, as I am not in the business of refuting the Divine’s handiwork, which made me this way, including it in my DNA. In truth, I warmly accept the multiplicity of this personality, this tour de force, this art that I find to be…ME.
Sensuality floods me when I dance. And it doesn’t matter, perchance, if the music, the beat, is fast or slow. I just let go. Fall back. Am subsumed in a cocoon of intoxicating waves, of vibes alive with liquid fire so searing…it incinerates me, and I am as tropical as these orange letters, as vibrant as tangerine leggings, as fluid as a russet sunset above Hawaiian waters.
The words that flow from my pen or gloss my lips drip in sensuality, I’ve noticed, even if what I write or speak isn’t particularly sensual in subject. You see, I accept it’s simply the way I move in the world. My feet seek, naturally, sensual shoes, be they plastic with clear heels or penciled toes or pink bows. I’m real. Strip me of these shoes and, if I’m feeling draped in moonlight and ermine, I rise to my toes and fathomed stilettos are the way I go, swaying to runway reels in my locs. Now, some may allow this sensuality could possibly be replaced with terms that earn the connotation of conceit or narcissism. To that, I grin, allowing others their verbal frivolity, since I adore tossing words up and running under them to feel their eloquence on my skin, my tongue, my sensibilities, much like, on a scorching day, children engaged in watery play under Centennial Park sprinklers.
Instead of posing a question to a mirror, I asked the Universe, one sweltering summer night: “What is the epitome of sensuality in the myriad stretches of your galaxies?” The response drifted as soft as sapphires in my earlobes and about my neck, and I could not defy its gentle reply while the silent stars stared. “Woman.” I blinked, I think, in the inky eve, and wondered if it erred. Yet the repeat of the nocturnal treat came again, so eternally sweet to my soul. “Woman. I would know, for I made her so. Consider the effervescence of her smile when beguiled. With one look, she annotates your deepest core, gives you back to yourself if you walk with her along the shore of trust. Her strength, her agility, and her generosity scatter the dust in your heart, even kiss away the cobwebs if, from your life, you’ve banished everyday art. A woman’s loving nature is not easily effaced, although she will erase what persists on battering her inner space. The world’s painters have pined to capture her face, the power of her mind, the paradise in the slope of her belly, the electric blue expanse of her soul, the guitar in her silhouette, the passion of her lips, her hips, the nurturing grace in her embrace, and the depths of her desire to create on an easel of erotic intent if intrigued. So, go and swim in the sea of sensuality. It is your birthright. From it, never flee like a gazelle in flight, my Queen of the Night.”
So if you care to dance, Amor, I will unveil my smile, and we can light the midnight skies while awaiting sunrise. Entiendes?
Monday, February 22, 2010