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manuscripts….

 My love, hear me, know this to be true:

My skin is the poetry of your touch
Our story is sung with every moan that spills from my lips
And when you come deep inside me
my name becomes a rite of passage on your soul

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handle with care…

handle with careOh my fuck, I can’t stand it.
I can’t stand
not touching you.
I can’t stand not feeling your eyes on me.
I need to touch you
and be touched by you.
I need to hear you moan as you watch my pleasure.
I need to taste you with my everything.

so
.
many
.
needs

So, when I grab your hand and lead you into the bedroom, it’s not on sudden impulse; my tug is a longstanding ache of horny that has been needing you in unspeakably hot and naughty ways.

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i am hunger…

i am hunger 1i am hunger 2

All night you waited for morning,
all morning
for afternoon,
all afternoon for night;
and still the longing sings.

—Ruth Stone—

 

 

A taste of you slipped
into me
like moonlight in a
locked church.

—Janet Lees—