Wasted Wild-flowers

Sitting there, legs outstretched, I ponder my skin.  Tanned, soft, scarred and prone to bruises, that skin.  A blade of grass slides across my ankle and I shift my sandalled feet.  My ticklish sandalled feet.  My sandal draws a line in the soft brown earth.  A sudden clamour of laughter nearby and I turn my head to listen.  My friends discuss the intricacies of wine and cheese-pairings as they clatter cheap wineglasses together.  They are sipping their wine.  My mind is hollow and silent.  The noise continues on.  A north-west wind blows through drying leaves sending a vortex spinning around me.  I sit half-anchored, mind swirling with contorted thoughts and sigh; have fun, don’t think, sip your drink, breathe.  This is not anxiety, this is introverted supression.  This is my Sahara vortex.  A blossoming flower sprouting from the driest earth.  

Face smiling, petals soft, but roots meet dry sand.  No nourishment here.  I left my anger behind tonight.  Leave that all behind you.  My dichotomy and contradiction cause frustration.  I am nonsensical.  Don’t be nonsensical.  Have fun, don’t think, sip your drink and breathe, you dessicated-desert-flower you!  There is a sandstorm within this vortex.  My skin is sandblasted to a silky smooth exterior, but who will notice that damning vortex?  Hold me.  Love me.  Honour me.  Obey me.  Rain on me.  Leave me.  Too many fields, too many years, so many opportunities to have picked them – daisies, cornflowers, flax and big sunflowers.  Rings and promises, but no wild-flowers?  White, blue, red, tiny, spikey, yellow?  Dried, faded, wilted, wasted.  

He brings me wasted wildflowers. 

The man in white sits nearby.  The brim of a white fedora shades his eyes as he watches a sandalled foot shift.  He does not see that tracing in soft earth.  He does not see that hot, constricting band.  Toes, ankles, knees and legs inhaled as he finishes a draught from a half-lit toke.  He exhales wicked thoughts and vapours of marijuana smoke.  His eyes flash obvious errant thoughts.  His smokey vortex swirls about him.  He smiles, chuckles softly and moves closer to the fading flower.  He crosses that line, that thin sandal line.  He did not see her line.  She feels his purple heat and hot wicked thoughts when he moves closer.  Beside her, he sits.  A leg brushes closely.  She shudders.  He grins and shivers.  No moisture or wine to soothe dry roots.  She wants to be moist.  Longs to be moist.  Mumbling something about a “band”, he offers a name and a well-groomed hand.  He wants a kiss.  So wants her lips.  There will be no tongue, no kiss.  All he sees are legs, knees, ankles and toes.  He does not see that line in the sand.  Her vortex is hot and his is euphoric.  She could get drunk on this intoxication, but offers “the weather” instead.  Dry, barren, dessicated weather, but you my dear are moist he says.  Let me drink of your water he thinks and slides an errant eye along her hem.  She is dried, faded, wilted, wasted.

He brings me wasted wildflowers.


17 responses to “Wasted Wild-flowers

  1. Muse – This was very disturbing to me. Too many similarities to what once was? Yes, for me. The gifts were always wasted wildflowers; although pretty on the outside, they held no meaning within. Ignoring the line in the sand. Not seeing the line in the sand. Blind to the line in the sand.

    Beautiful and sad, PM.

  2. Wow, Muse, sometimes your writing truly amazes me. This is so rich. It makes you ache, desire and yearn all at once. The contradiction and the torment from that is palpable.
    Love you, Goddess Girl x

  3. “All he sees are legs, knees, ankles and toes. He does not see that line in the sand. ”
    Wow, that’s good stuff. I can’t wait to read more!

  4. OB – Thank you for your words OB! I can appreciate your empathy – considering your relationship history too. You know…I really found this piece difficult to write. Despite the double meanings and metaphors, it really is about maintaining composure and experiencing spirituality in my own silent but turbulent vortex as admirers (men) look on, oblivious to this, to *me*. In many of my relationships, I give and give and give, until I am dry and wasted…this is changing…

    The wildflowers are spent offerings…meaningless in the absence of spirit and the nourishment of rain and tending…I expect reciprocity in my relationships now – deeper meaning (even though I understand that we need to stand on our own – because in the end, we are truly “alone”). So, in the end, I have turmoil, but inner strength and courage. That is the “hope” of this piece (I think). There is beauty in creating your own oasis in life – and that is what I am struggling to accomplish now…

    Simonne – Thank you so much. I’m glad that I succeeded in conveying that torment. You know, this scenario actually happened to me the other day…at a gathering (and this piece is a reflection of how I felt at the time…).

    V – Lol! Thanks for stopping by Venus. I went to bed last night (after having written this), thinking about Venus in retrograde (your post!)…and got to wondering if that planet’s axis ever tilts?! Might explain some of my bizarre feminine thoughts lately…!

    (((((((((((((((HUGS EVERYONE, I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!)))))))))))))

  5. Oh, PM… This is magnificent. I could feel it…especially this line: have fun, don’t think, sip your drink, breathe.

    That’s been my mantra for weeks now….something very similar to it….as I’m also creating myself and my life anew, with their new boundaries, etc.

    Thank you! You are a vision singer!

  6. Grace – Wow…thank you Grace. Let’s recreate our mantras together my Goddess friend. Love you. ((((HUGS)))).

  7. cynical_sheila

    Stunning…. felt it, heard it, saw it, smelled it, remembered it.

  8. Honey, you are a vision-singer – I love that name for you. I feel such a connection with you. I wish we could hang out today and be real friends, with arms to sling across each other and laughter to ripple over our skin.
    Sending you virtual hugs and giggles x

  9. I keep coming back and reading this post and it makes me tear up every time. I can’t explain it and I can’t put my finger on it. Even now, I feel like I could cry. Maybe it’s the melancholy it evokes, and the longing, and the sadness. I loved it, simply loved it.

  10. This is really powerful. I always find it interesting what jumps out at different people. For me it was:

    No moisture or wine to soothe dry roots. She wants to be moist.

    I think because I rarely have the problem with men not “seeing” my lines, since I draw them like moats. So my problem is more the opposite, yet it comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it? Needing the moisture for the dry roots. Whether we don’t let people close, or we let them close and have them drain us dry…

  11. Cynical Sheila – Let’s share that glass of Merlot, yes? Welcome my love. Thanks for stopping by.

    Simonne – I was just thinking about wanting to spend some time in Australia at some point – when and if I ever do make it to your beautiful continent, we are going to share that bottle (make that two!!) of wine together, yes?!. I feel this connection to you – and would love that chance to laugh, share and revel in our togetherness. Much {{{{Love}}}} to you!

    OB – There is a longing in my heart. I guess that is also the predominant feeling that I am trying to evoke here. This longing is so deep, profound…I can’t even put my finger on it. I don’t really know what it would be like to receive that hand-picked, fresh bouquet of wildflowers and the rain that nourishes it (from a non-virtual person). What does that feel like I wonder?! Thanks my Love. I feel your energy dripping like a nourishing rain today…

    Deb – Thanks for picking up on that bit of the writing. I am getting better at drawing my lines in the sand…but those lines can only be crossed by very *special people*. I can’t say that there are many men that have ever crossed those lines, but once they have – they know that they have encountered a precious oasis in my heart (and I hope to God that they treasure and love that nourishment). It’s just that now – now I am hoping to receive some of that nurturing back, in kind (for I can love truly and deeply). I don’t think that that is too much to ask…I really don’t…

  12. By the way…”Vision Singer” has to be one of THE most flattering and beautiful compliments that I have ever received. I bow gracefully to you Grace…that is simply lovely….XX

  13. Ahhhh 🙂 xoxoxox I’m just the messenger, sweetheart.

    And I bow with all gratitude and humbleness amongst ALL of the goddesses. I would so love to meet each of you – all at once! LOL You’ve made my life so much richer, and so much less alone feeling in so many ways.

    Cheers, Girls! YOU ROCK!!

  14. btw….((( OB ))) whyever you’re crying, honey, it is a good thing I’m thinking. Something healing deep within – perhaps in another lifetime, even.

    The Vision Singer words are timeless


  15. OK, I am now officially calling this “The Post that finally made Karen cry over and over and over.” Quite a feat – I don’t cry easily or often (antidepressants!). You are a vision singer PM.

    I don’t know how to meet the right one, even though I finally did at age 43. It’s hard and complicated and I doubt I could ever do it again.

    Too much to say and no time to say it this morning, since I’m supposed to be working. I’ll ponder today and write tonight. Hugs, Muse!

  16. YES! Of course!! xxx

  17. OK Ladies…I am seriously choking back some MAJOR tears now….!

    (((((((((((((((((((((((GROUP HUG)))))))))))))))))))))))))

    After having this sadness wash over me, I am left feeling fresh and new….I need to write a happy post this morning!

    Thank you for being there Ladies. Love to all of you…..

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