hair pulled by the stars…

The light of grandmother moon slithers along the horizon, secretly, as it rises above the sagest of trees. i rest my head on your lap and inhale. the bench is cool but hard, like the spring air. promising. i feel the flex of your leg muscle as you laugh at my joke. we adjust and pause. this silence is familiar. there is comfort knowing the scent of your skin under hair under the moon under the weight of all that’s happened between us. our horizon of connection shimmies around the our horizon of mistakes and misunderstandings and all the ways we’ve stumbled, trying to protect ourselves from each other.

i press my ear against your thigh and i hear the earth, the heart of your being dancing in staccato to the beat of me and mine. i circle your knee and run my hand up along the inside of your thigh. the beat thickens the heat that i feel surge towards my clit. my lips. your legs pulse and heat my palm. i lick the crease between my sigh as you arch just enough for my hand to cup you. you gently caress my hair, my neck, my shoulders and pause on the peak of my hip. your hands mold to fit me, broad and warm. i feel myself swell and i tilt just enough to open my thighs to the air, wafting my pussy’s anticipation. your fingers stretch in this familiar subtle dance. i feel the past and future: all the times we’ve licked my glistening light from your two longest fingers, fingers that have reached into my darkest, softest, wettest depth.

i camouflage my moan in a sigh as i slowly slide my knees up and under me on the bench. i tug on your thigh as i right myself as i drop my face closer to your thickening cock as i unzip and slide my hand into your pants as you look around and pull them down enough for me to inhale and grip and latch and suck and suck and suck and stroke and suck and stroke and spin to sink my swollen dripping cunt onto your throbbing eager shaft.

the moon.
the air.
our moans so bright.

and when i turn us around, both hands now on the bench, my ass up for you, i feel the echo of your heat in the wood. my fingers slip through the cracks as i brace. your gorgeous cock splits and spreads my lips and i gasp at the deep well of my need. to feel full with you. to feel the air slither up my velvet thighs as it meets my juice sliding down. your grip on both my hips forces us into a rhythm born of the earth and air and light. we’re carried beyond words into the wettest hottest hardest sweetest flow of pleasure.

“someone might see us,” you say with each pump and pound.

my hips push back in reply. my hand grips one of your wrists, “don’t stop” and then slips down to my clit. we both moan and your head falls back as a small burst of my wet splashes onto the ground. i’m so close. so close to you to this cadence of wonder to this magical infinite space of now now now.

when we kiss. after. when you kiss my full lips. the moonlight dances with the joy in my bright eyes. you smell my forehead. new blossoms skitter in the air and as you turn, you take my hand. one step, another step. the earth holds us as just as we are.

make it your business to build fires…

I shaved my landing strip for you. Lying in bed now, I trace. The impossible smooth of my mound wraps all the way around and through to wherever I imagine your mouth wants to travel. I trace myself, recalling the width of your hands—warm like my moan.

I don’t spread my legs; I cross them so that my sleek, bold clit upstages my miles-of-smooth. I squeeze my thighs tighter and pleasure shoots down my long, lean legs. I squirm just so. You know. And when I close my eyes, I see you looking at me, staring into my big brown eyes with a hunger that stirs me to my every tip.

I flush with heat, with longing for your hot exhale on my velvety red and pink and darkest softest parts… the breath that parts my waters, that soaks my bed, that makes my throat catch with pleasured cries of “More. Oh, my fuck, please. More.”

black sox n all…

I will always look into your eyes when your hands can dip into the sigh of my skin. I will always blush when you unwrap me from within myself, when your desire for me and us and “this” overwhelms the voice that says, “I am not enough.” I will always lift and spread and arch and buck and squirm and squirt for you, reaching for your cum with each “Oh, fuck, yes. Yes.” The force of my smile for you frees you from
every small nightmare and What-Was and what Could Never Be.

You are every moan.
I am every impossible gasp.
We are the Unfolding.

never too much…

(an inexhaustible list)

Your name, slipping like warm honey from my lips.
Your facial hair rubbing against my smooth thighs.
Bending over for you.
Your hot, warm mouth on me.
Reaching for you.
My legs spreading for you.
Lifting my hips, my ass, my whatever-you-want for you.
Our moans.
Eating me out.
Our eyes meeting in deepest heat.
Sucking you off.
The grip of my cunt walls before I cum for you.
Your pleasure.
Your fingers.
My please and thank yous.
Your beautiful, bobbing, throbbing thick for me.
My fuck-juice slick on my swollen lips.
The give and take of our pleasure.
My wet
All my fuck-wet for you.

All of it.

an echo…

I touched myself tonite.
I fondled the softest parts of my moan.
I pressed so hard my breath caught.
I almost said your name.
Over
and Over
Again

My skin is silent, not because it has nothing to say but because it’s waiting for you to begin.