• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
Image by

Cathy & Heathcliff

I rest here,
swaying in perpetual breeze
yet grounded by love.

He is my rock:
wholesome, true.

My dress billows in the wind,
buoyed by hawkish uplift;
spinning as a captured shrew,
praying for redemption.

His darkness holds,
as I sit atop
craggy outcrops,
eyeing his silhouette
against our bronzing moon.


Cathy & Heathcliff

Ebb and flow binds us,
knitting rows
of sequential seasons
as lapwings weave nests;
he fabrics my being
and I stand velvet-tall,
awaiting fiery kisses,
longing for release
as we step…
…threading fingers
into heathen otherness…

Here love coats my soul,
brimming me full
as tidal waves
filling jam jars,
spilling with plentitude.