Suddenly missing your mouth…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Before I fuck your brains out, I will kiss the palm of your hand and gently suckle your neck, just behind your earlobe.
Before I make your toes curl, I will wrap my tongue around your balls and hum my moaning need to feel you burst with cum inside me.
Before you watch me arch and squirt my pleasure all over your hand, I will ride and slide my slit along your cock with my hands pressed against your chest.
I will moan your name like a growl. I will moan your name with every buck and tug and pound. I will moan your name to the beat of my every pleasure. How we will dance together under this full moon!
Before you wake, I will fuel your dreams with memories so potent you will weep not to find me there.
Always, in all ways,
Without meaning to,
he’s disarmed me,
with kisses that soothe
and alarm me.
In arms that terrify
and calm me.
— Lang Leav —
It’s windy today. All the windows are open. The leaves wrinkle the air like your warm, post-coital back wrinkles fresh linens. The wind reminds me of moans. Of our pleasure sounds. And how juicy I am when you’re between my legs.
It’s hard to describe the feeling of my long, silky and wet rubbing, pressing, pulsating against your strength and heat and bristles, width, and length. My body knows it, though; even now as I write it, my clit trembles and my lips swell at the thot.
I have to pause. I have to slowly slide my summer dress up and slip my silky panties to the side so that I can lay myself down on my bed and tend to the quivering cum I will become with thots of you.
How is it that the air carries the echo of your moans – some, the most delicious I’ve ever heard? How do your eyes manage to pierce my armour in memory and dreams? What mystery and magic are you that stops me in my tracks on sunny, windy days and makes me cum as sweet and deeply as I just did?
Clouds suddenly appear
in a crystal blue sky
and I still say that you
(not just your mouth),
drive me mad.
You don’t need to be inspired to write a poem.
You need to reach down and touch the thing
that’s boiling inside of you
and make it somehow useful.
— Audre Lorde —