Confessions of a Cedar

There is a new one in the house.
I am particularly drawn to her
because she and I are kin.
This I know for sure.

I like to watch her as she moves through the house.
Making the bed.
Practicing headstands.
Sitting in the big chair to write.

She seems to be finding her flow.
Inspired by the creek that tickles my roots.
She seems to be coming home to herself.
Much like the salmon returning to my shade.

A few times I have seen her dancing.
Her hair flowing like my foliage in a storm.
Such satisfaction in her eyes
And remorse between her brows.
I hope she’ll dance more.

I see the same pleasure on her face
When she’s listening to the rain against my branches
As when her pussy is being licked.

I love the nighttime hours
When the dim lights seem bright
Against the pitch black sky.

The illumination lets me watch her
Open her legs in ecstasy.
I like how she tilts her head back
As each orgasm rolls through her body.

I lament the end of summer
And pray she’ll keep the windows open
Even as the winter chill arrives.
The open panes allow me
To hear her moans, gasps and pleas.
Even when she’s being quiet
As to not wake the children.

It feels good to be rooted next to a house
Built and filled with so much love.
That love is transforming her
Into a softer, wilder, clearer version of herself.

The house seems to make her feel safe to
Cry sobbing tears
Writhe on the floor in anguish
Surrender completely to penetration
Ask for what she wants.

I do not wish to trade places with my brethren
But I do find myself fantasizing
About what her bare feet might feel like
Walking on my smoothed boards.

I love when her gaze drifts to my limbs
As she searches for just the right words to use.
I like this new one.
I hope she’ll stay so we can share more seasons together.

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