The first time I sang in the church choir;
two hundred people changed their religion.— Fred Allen —
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.
closer…
dive for dreams…
dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.
– e.e. cummings –
she bit her lip…
rawr…
Dear Gentle Sir,
This hunger aches; it spreads through every inch of me. It takes me in and turns me inside out, over and over again. It makes me forget that I am me, this hunger. This heat of desire, this need, and impossible want, reveals me – shows to me the self that I have never truly known. And each time you see me and accept me, you reintroduce me to myself. You are a magician and I become a mystery. With you, even the familiar seems a surprise.
Tonight, I think of you.
I think of you and hunger… or maybe it’s the other way around.
Rawr,
Lola Moi xo
dirty girl…
need grips me…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Fuck me.
Please.
Take me deep and hard and hot until you spill everything and then, we’ll find more.
Even if I have to suck it out of you, we’ll find it.
Achingly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
O for a muse…
waiting…
Left off the highway and
down the hill. At the
bottom, hang another left.
Keep bearing left. The road
will make a Y. Left again.
There’s a creek on the left.
Keep going. Just before
the road ends, there’ll be
another road. Take it
and no other. Otherwise,
your life will be ruined
forever. There’s a log house
with a shake roof, on the left.
It’s not that house. It’s
the next house, just over
a rise. The house
where trees are laden with
fruit. Where phlox, forsythia,
and marigold grow. It’s
the house where the woman
stands in the doorway
wearing sun in her hair. The one
who’s been waiting
all this time.
The woman who loves you.
The one who can say,
“What’s kept you?”
– Raymond Carver –