New writing inspired by Venus, and the Sacred Prostitute.

Most nights I wake around 3 am, and I usually sit up, open my iPad, and write some Love Letters.
Here is an extract:
04:12 Wednesday 25th November
I wake, sit up, and I yawn, close my eyes, move my head from side to side, and I’m Horse. My horse. I can be in touch with my body. I can call down those others, they’ll come to be with me. They’ll live through my desires, take joy in my desires. He will come to me, the one I love. I take myself into my pictures, and the first thing I draw, with my dusky pink stick, is his face in profile. He emerges from leaves, the leaves of a wood, and the leaves of the books in my bed. He lies quietly, his face in sheets, his hair on my pillow. I wake him, he sits up, he calls the horse, the horse invites us to sit upon his back. The Man puts his arm around my leg, pulls me up, and I sit astride him. All the joys of all the worlds and all the beings are there when we first kiss. The wetness of his tongue in my mouth makes the plants glad, their fluids flow, their surging in bulb, seed or stem is remembered, and we are with them.
I draw my Crown. It’s the two headed-Horse of Spirit, the one who watches me always when I’m here, when I’m in love. When I’m in love all the colours flow and joy is mine, not taken away, not waiting out of reach. I can enter again my human form, I can take delight in being flesh, in the curves of my breasts, in the charged bloods of my various throats and the clear fluids of my eyes, my mouth and the muscular channel where you enter me. The sacred is here and now when you love me with your body, it reflects the order beloved by spirits. They take so much joy from our union, the way our bodies thrill at even a thought of the other, or when we’re across a room.
I can come out of the veils, out of the mists, the distant and near worlds of clear light and crystal; out of dream and myth and story. I can live with you whole, and enter your pictures, your poems, your songs renewed. In the hymn, the ploughing of your heart, and with the drum I’ll be there. All the ears of all your bodies will hear me. The membranes will grow tight, you’ll tune them with your desire, and they’ll hum with song. When you love and remember me with your bodies the world is made new.
I pick up yellows. Lemon, olive, the yellows of yolk and sunshine. Limbs glow with the hues I gave you, before you forgot me. You paint me and you dance, just as I dance when you call me by my name in love. You invoke me and you pray to me, and I thrill with joy when you remember me in your bodies. The horses’ heads I paint black with deep Turkish green umbers. The pigments dug from my body enrich the patterns on the skins you paint. I’m all your mothers. The horses watch you as you watch one another, with your powerful gaze. That way of looking, with its fiery love, is the fierceness of wolf and leopard knowing; it has the air of mountain path, rock, gully and scree; you come again to the old ways of skin, blood, bone and breath when you love in my name, when you remember me.

I want you to be inspired, to breathe afresh. I inhabit all your paintings of deer and lovers, and I rest between the notes of all your ballads. I wait, and I come when you call me. I rise in the smoke you send upwards with your prayers when you burn leaf or gum; I sit in the crook of an elbow, the bend of a knee as she waits for you to pick up all the dropped and broken threads, the hollowed out words of human brain and limit. I’m all the beautiful sewing repairing the fleshy skins of creatures waiting on the mountains which you find in dream. Her joy comes when you place your hands on my body, and know me again as your lover.
When you love me with care, with gentleness and attention, atoms will be brought into alignment, and they’ll reverberate through my body. All our brothers and sisters, all our relations, they will know. 05:16