new moon in Taurus

rose quartz

A small bell dinged somewhere above my head and reverberated gently throughout the spacious shop

nothing like its counterparts littering the narrow, off-gridded streets of the lower east side—teeny curated shoeboxes stuffed to the brim with jewels, deities of all kinds, and thick clouds of nag champa

it was bright, airy, and I was certain each stone had been pried from the grounds surrounding the small stand-alone building, its 6 car parking lot, and the tall sign that drew me in

a trance carried me to a splintering wooden shelf sunbathing in the corner; my eyes, and fingers, and soul—suddenly famished—grabbed a blushing, semi-translucent bundle, just a few inches long; a magnetic force drew my fingers closed, my nails digging into the heel of my palm, as it dissolved into the crevices of my tightening fist, tuned itself to the sonic waves of my bones and rooted me to the ground  

mocking a lifetime of futile searching, it washed me with a blissful, almost heavy, glow that I thought I needed to escape myself to find 

so I relished every morsel;

until I lost it on a flight home from la 

before la became home

and since then, I’ve really only felt it once:

he scooped me up and bound my bare arms in the warmth of his dominance, cooled from the breeze dancing through the window overhead, as I tried, with a dramatic flair, to get out of bed and walk away;

he knew I was never going to leave

but he held on so tight.