Tag Archives: love

How Do I Spice Up My Sex Life?

Conversations with the Goddess

Here is today’s Conversation with the Goddess:

Dear Goddess, how do I spice up my sex life?

W.M.

I am the Goddess of passion and desire. Let go of your fear. Be bold. Give your fantasies room to breathe and grow. Experiment. Your partner’s reaction will surprise you. There’s something you’ve been wanting to try for a while now. Go for it. You’ll both enjoy it. Don’t be afraid to play.

Goddess keep you,

MACHA

 

Good-bye

Goodbye: A short, short story by Marissa Campbell
Goodbye: A short, short story by Marissa Campbell

Raindrops glisten and plop, falling off glossy leaves. My boots shuffle, the dirt loose under foot. The shovel rests against a slender sapling in silent vigil. A smooth grey rock, streaked with veins of pink and white, placed with care—a reminder. The peony weeps velvet blossoms. The air is still, heavy with damp. The clouds mourn, mixing with my tears. Plop, plop. I clasp the worn collar in my hands, the leash limp hangs by the back door. Good-bye.

 

 

 

White Bristles

This is a free flow exercise I did recently during a writing retreat. The facilitator led us through a relaxation exercise followed by visualization.  The concept was to keep writing, keep the pen moving until time was up. This is the piece that resulted:

White Bristles, by Marissa Campbell
White Bristles, by Marissa Campbell

“Come sit on the bed, love,” she says.

I move closer, my bare feet on the carpet not making a sound. My pyjamas, a soft cotton, keeping the summer night’s cool air from making me shiver. The window open to the sound of crickets, a train whistles in the dark distance, the full moon brilliant in the ink sky. I sit on the bed.

She lifts my hair in her hands and begins to brush, the white bristles smoothing out my long blonde hair. She finds a tangle; her strokes slow, her attention gentle and light until the knot gives way, the strokes rhythmic once more.

I missed my grandma. She was closer to me than my mother, their home more comforting than my own. I would count the days until the weekend, until I could once again climb my trees, play in my garage, eat warm apple pie and get tucked into bed, the pink lava lamp globing and sinking, breaking and floating, its motion a lullaby, my grandmother’s words, ‘I love you,’ embracing me each night as I drifted off to sleep.

In gratitude,

Marissa xo

Buggie Blanket

Bumblebees and butterflies embroidered in even rows.

Soft yellow cotton soothes restless dreams.

Faded and frayed edges worn thin from little hands seeking reassurance.

He clutches it tight.

Slippered pyjamas pad softly down the hall.

Sleep well, my son.

In gratitude,

Marissa xo

Our Dance

Our Dance, a Poem by Marissa Campbell

Little patter of tiny feet.

I hear them in my mind.

A small inquiring face,

Appears gently by my side.

I can give no answers,

I only smile.

The pitter-pat returns,

To a bed growing cool.

He is restless tonight,

But I am here.

He waits patiently,

Puttering about his room,

Unable to commit to dreaming.

He knows I will come.

I listen out for dangers,

A mother’s ear posed and receptive,

But there is no worry,

Just a dance of familiarity,

Weaving in and out of time.

I rise and tuck him in.

A whisper of love and pride.

Sweet dreams now.

Our dance rests,

Until morn.