I

I drifted ethereal air
sitting on top of a rock
ledge that had dislodged
itself, with a bench seat,
high back, what earthlings
call the loveseat,

the Wives host souls
vacated their body in
full soul exchange, we
four now the soul braid,
braiding with the incoming
incarnation,

our mission as
time healers, memories
of our home world and ship,
we carry the Crystal Gene,
we are drawn to grid and
vortex earth,

collective consciousness
raising the planetary frequency
shifting our world into a higher
plane,

remnants of the
Lyran humans, we
survived the First Great
Galactic War where we
preserved the word f***
in a conscious choice from
incarnation from another plane
of existence,

pleiades, the
colony's shimmering,
alchemical orphrey, border
of gold embroidery on the women
priests vestments a clue, torn and
tattered, the tunic wars impeding religious
choice and sexual orientation as preserved
evidence encoded in DNA, those eternal fibers
have not left us;

the hidden purpose
of junk DNA in our
bodies is ready to
receive the realignment
and fusion of our twelve strands
of DNA, erotic in the timelines
of pussy, embracing a higher aspect
of the labial starseed.

Copyright 3.26.2010 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist