Image: 'Elemental Child' By Steven L. Fornal
Walking on the beach last weekend,
the wind singing Spring
while the waves hold winter,
I found a small cobble.
A polished green metamorphic matrix
with spidery black veins and
a wide band of white quartz.
Little girls call them friendship stones,
or wishing stones.
I rediscovered it this morning in my
coat pocket. Its comfortable, washed
roundness fitting into my hand, keeping
my fingers company as I walk to work.
I touch the curved tip to my lips - cool,
dry firmness. It's tangy - salt and seaweed.
It starts to whisper to me...
I close the office door, locking it. I slip
the stone beneath my clothes and tip
my hips back. Soften. Holding it inside
until the only difference is elemental
hardness. I slide it along my labia,
unfolding, unfurling, spreading. I press
it against my clit - playing with the
energetic potentials of hard and soft,
fast and slow.
We tell each other of molten cores and
tidal currents. A timeless language of waves
teaching, 'Born of the Earth and cradles by the sea.'
I share heartbeat, pulse, breath contraction.
And, when I touch tip to my lips again,