Holly is a joy to have in my life. The world knows how beautiful she is, but look a little deeper.

Holly is an alchemist! Her dreams become reality(I have seen and touched them). No surprise she is named for an evergreen symbol of rebirth. She walks her own path, and if you are lucky, you can trace it's joys, for a time.

Her face hints at her depths, from the clarity of those incredible eyes that look cut from rainwater, to the tempest which can cross her brow (and you KNOW you deserve it), to her Mona Lisa smile. Of course she loves cats, she's half one herself! Loving and passionate, magickal, headstrong, independent, incredibly intelligent, hedonistic, dangerous to those she isn't fond of(and I pity you). Time alone with her is where she truly shines. She teaches me something every time we get together, few I'd say that about. She is the only person who has singlehandedly inspired a line on my interests list. And her sense of humor is as depraved as mine! Her smile can light up the room, like lighting, or sunrise. Love her, I do.

Her humanity, wit, kindness, imagination and beauty spin together to coalesce palpably into a bright, brilliant, warming light--in her immediate vicinity, and sometimes over great distances. The light traverses the space between facing eyes, between words and ears, between fingers and prose, between brush and canvas, between points at the periphery of cyberspace, between transmitter and receiver, between thought and deed. May you be so fortunate as to sit for some precious moments in its comforting glow, and feel welcomed and humbled by the awakened kindred spirit, that she is.

As have I.

She uses me for my massaging hands and has yet to return the favor but I could never truly be upset with one of my favorite snugglers.

Quixotic and aloof... determined... opinionated... perplexic et feminine.

Holly has her moments, and beneath those she has her depth. Born of a sight into the other, her artistic and etheric visions are neither unmistakable nor easily refutable. Though hidden at times beneath the fabric, her heart lies open under long sleeves, and her wit rests within the weave of the cloth. Neither maiden, nor crone, nor yet mother, but wisdom none the less; her angels still yet get the better of her though the demons playfully prowl beneath.

Pause but for a moment to rest within the gaze of that quirked brow, and then listen. Most likely she knows more than you...

She touched my penis...