Passion Prose

We write because it is human nature to write to create and crave.  Writing claims our world. Passion drives it. Making it directly and specifically our own. 

We write because it brings clarity and passion to the act of living. Writing is sensual, experiential, grounding. Desire is the flint that lights the fire. When placed together they bring us to the ethereal. They expose and sooth the soul. 

We write because humans are spiritual beings and writing is a powerful form of meditation. We write because writing yields us a body of work, a felt path through the world we live in.

Out from the brain and onto the page, the words are tokens of our experiences.  Packets of feelings able to be re-examined,  deliberated and judged. Rearranged and edited. Reviewed and amended and polished like new. A new path made with old stones. That path can be trodden by others and they can walk our curated path and hear our tale just as we intended. 

However we can't control their shoes, their gait, where their head is turned or if they should slip and fall. 

The path we leave is our interpretation for others to interpret in their turn.

Sneaker Waves

The moon was full with Venus dancing around. These celestial bodies called me out of sleep. The sky of symphony of stars. Almost too beautiful to comprehend. After witnessing a dying star, I returned to bed and dreamed a dance of revivification. 

The morning brought a dizziness. To clear my head, I walked on my beach. It’s winter so the waves are increased in size and thunder. Rattling the sand as they expel the last of their energy and rising at least 12 feet overhead. They were breaking at least an acre from my sandy foot prints. 

While walking a sadness takes over my soul that I don’t understand. It racks my body. It causes rain from my eyes. Leaving tide pools on my cheeks, waterfalls dripping from my chin. 

I searching for the cause to the visceral melancholy my body is feeling. My mind does not know the inciting incident of this impromptu storm.

Then. 

I see his face. I hear his laugh. I remember how his lips melded to mine. How his hands felt. I forget that I’m angry with him. I forget how his betrayal sliced my heart. And all I want is him back in my kitchen arguing about the proper way to slice onions.

This overwhelming remembrance has wracked my body. Now my brain has caught up. I’m inconsolable. 

As I walk blind from crying, the tide comes too close. Feeling it first. Then hearing the roar. Turning to the dunes to out run it, but I’m helpless against this force of nature. The same as I was helpless in loving him. I brace myself. Legs wide apart. Fists clenched. What was once dry sand is now a waist high ocean surge pulling me out to sea. Reaching, pulling sand out from underneath my feet. Taking my equilibrium and turning me into a seagoing creature. I fight the tide the same as I fight the feelings for him. Resistance is futile. I tumble breathless in the water. Feeling the same suffocation I’ve lived with since he declared he was done. I let my body shed every last drop of moisture. Gulping out rage, inhaling salt. 

I finally get my footing, right myself and run toward the sand dune’s. I’m wet from head to toe. Salt of tears on my face, the bulk of the ocean covering body. Baptized in salt and fear. 

I survived it. I can endure now. Become one of the living. Forget this ever happened. Until the next sneaker wave attacks me. 

Love doesn’t die -it hides in the corner waiting for the moon to pull the tide and blanket you in its relentless embrace. 

Unrequited Loss

I’m feeling loss. It’s from unrequited love. I was a fool. I fell for an unavailable man. I fell hard. Like off the moon hard.

I know why- because I saw myself in his soul. I saw my mate. But I instantly saw he did not feel the same for me. And I still ignored it. I still see it every day. I’m a distraction. I’m making him feel desired — but he really doesn’t give a love- he just desired. I have to minute by minute remind myself that It’s just lust not love for him.

Lust is intoxicating at first, but it has spun me around until I end up on the floor, completely disoriented and unable to function.

Just as fear is mistaken for love, so is lust. Lust distracts me from life. Love encourages me to live.

Love is the stolen kiss that I still feel standing in the produce aisle of the grocery store.

Love is love when there is no question of its existence and its loyalty. It was there, it is there, it will always be there. Just like the ocean, it ebbs and flows but is always there.

I don’t have this. I only have lose and yearning. But it feels like love.

Where to buy Consumed!

Hello Friends! 

My new culinary erotica tale has been released on the EBook format.

It is a fun romp with many local chefs and restaurants featured. Please share with anyone you think will enjoy this fun romp into the grownup playground of fine dining and sex.

Here is the link for Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B016DW85PA

Here is the link for Barnes and Noble (Nook):

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/reviews/consumed-teri-bayus/1122959445?ean=2940150933354

I am in need of reviews on Amazon before they start showing it.  They require 20 reviews before it ends up in the regular search engine. I am asking you to read and review, it doesn’t have to be a long review, 20 words and 5 stars will help.  Thank you all who have supported me on this fun journey! 

The Book is out!

Screening the meal and the book.  Fantastic view from the Seaventure.

Passion Lead Them

Luckily they orchestrated their lives that limited access was probable and when a few stolen minutes of privacy was presented to them they fell onto each other with a fervor that registered on the Richter scale. Their own personal earth-shaking event, that rattle them to their souls. Each wanting more, but both terrified what each new discovery would turn into. 

The possibility of being discovered, having to explain or worse- having it ripped away. This possibility was a fate worse than death,  that neither thought they could survive. They behaved like spy's sending secret messages and passing love notes, caressing under tables.  

Fear regulated them. But passion lead them. 

Secret Lovers

As she watched the rain pelt the earth, saw the thirsty terra absorb each drop, she thought of the passion he had ignited. It was a mindful burn, one that existed and grew in their imagination, but it felt real, even tangible. It was more than any sensation she had labeled "Love" before. 

Was it so intoxicating because it was forbidden? She was sure that was a component. But he had a way of knowing the words, looks and stolen touches that she craved, without knowing it herself. Every element of this man fit perfectly into her yearning- except that she belonged to someone else. 

She researched for a label, a justification or a way they could be free to love without imploding lives, leaving a trail of destruction. 

Was she a muse, geisha, courtesan, lover, mistress, whore?

All names or labels she would happily accept if it meant access to him. But the fervor she felt for him was more than any description she could find. She searched poetry, great literally works, artists and kings looking for some point of reference. 

Finding none, she resolved that they were simply two people in love, that found each other too late. 

She would never give him up, he would never leave her mind, they would exist in the world of shadows. Fueling a passion that would be unrequited and growing.