You see everything, you see every part.
You see all my light and you love my dark.
You dig everything of which I’m ashamed.
There’s not anything to which you can’t relate.
And you’re still here.
– Alanis Morissette –
breezeblocks…
into space like a kite…
Suck.
My finger in your mouth waits.
My clit trembles to press deeper against your tongue.
Show me your hunger.
My cheeks burn with the delight of your voice
My hands clench with the need of your weight
Taste me.
Unglue me from gravity, from the constraints of “No.”
Unleash the force of your name from my moaning lips.
Hear me, be with me again.
Like you are now.
Please.
the wish i once knew…
Tonite, the moon is ablaze. Under step, the snow crunches as I trudge down the still street towards home. I am so busy looking inside that I mistake a mini-herd of deer for ruffians out for a late night smoke. I stop. They stop. Now, frozen in place on this, our own abbey road. Our breath, heaves in and out in puffs of white – much like the tails that flick behind them. We face one another in the deep silence of a moonlit winter’s night.
And I sing.
I sing a lullaby – an ancient sound from a People who have survived. They cluster; this sound tempers their skittishness. The lone buck inches towards me and I towards him in a dance that wavers and weaves. The space between us both miniscule and monumental. I sing until I can no longer feel my hands for the cold. My nipples ripe with frost, I miss your mouth. I ache for your heat.
We walk. Or rather, they lead and I follow.
Down the street, I go
Under the weight of life
Benear this heat of living earth
The moon takes over and sings:
There is love.
There is love.
There is love.
under pressure…
The doors of the metro open and close, open and close.
Sitting there, looking into the vacant eyes of overworked suits, food-fused stollers, and academic neglect, your spine shivers. Not from cold, though with each waft of air something certainly stirs within you. This day, you cannot align yourself with the abundance of barely-beating hearts. Despite your own years of wear and tear, she has gifted you, down to each nerve, with life.
The doors of the metro open and close, open and close.
Thoughts of her sustain you. You can smell her everywhere. You rest your head on the window, close your eyes, and with the everyday gestures of a man, you secretly sniff your collar, the cuff of your jacket, the palm of your hand, your finger… tips. She is still there. Your breath catches with heated reminiscence. There is room for more inside. There is this. This pressure she is… is intense. Your cock tingles and aches to splurge.
The doors of the metro open and close, open and close.
The train carries you closer to her even when you’ve just left, the long ride redolent of each delicious moan you’ve shared. Her soft mounds and curves await you behind closed doors; she is always open for you. She’s not the first who would do anything for you but she is waiting, she is always waiting, has always been waiting and your balls roil with anticipation, your suckable, full cock tips its head and quickens at the thot. No, you cannot commiserate with the dearth of listless grey lives around you. She has claimed you and you are forever changed.
The doors of the metro open and close, open and close.
Open and close.
Open.
Close.
Open…
L
– Lola Moi –
stay…
a love song…
What have I to say to you
When we shall meet?
Yet—
I lie here thinking of you.
The stain of love
Is upon the world.
Yellow, yellow, yellow,
It eats into the leaves,
Smears with saffron
The horned branches that lean
Heavily
Against a smooth purple sky.
There is no light—
Only a honey-thick stain
That drips from leaf to leaf
And limb to limb
Spoiling the colours
Of the whole world.
I am alone.
The weight of love
Has buoyed me up
Till my head
Knocks against the sky.
See me!
My hair is dripping with nectar—
Starlings carry it
On their black wings.
See, at last
My arms and my hands
Are lying idle.
How can I tell
If I shall ever love you again
As I do now?
– William Carlos Williams –