Our practice is to find our true home.
When we breathe, we breathe in such a way
that we can find our true home.
When we make a step,
we make a step in such a way
that we touch our true home with our feet.
— Thich Nhat Hanh —
as near as possible…
Once the realization is accepted that
even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue,
a wonderful living side by side can grow,
if they succeed in loving the distance between them
which makes it possible for each to see
the other whole against the sky.
— Rainer Maria Rilke —
the blink of an eye…
There, until you’re suddenly… not.
just so…
The crease of my hips fits your hands (just so). You note this as you watch, as is your preference. Stripped down to silky skin – caramel soft on white, white sheets, I swing my hair over my shoulder and look back at you (just so). Your gentleman hands hold my ankles sweet and I shift away from you onto the bed, onto my tummy.
Side-boobs gently bulge, and my hands slip between my legs (just so). I rock on my clit. I dig the soft, firm edge of my knuckles into the growing nub of my passion until my voice catches, making your heart skip a beat (just so).
You smell me now, this wet that’s been waiting for you. My panting breath catches in a moan and your head drops back. I am here, splayed, spread, juiced-up for you. I feel the air cool on my ass compared to the heat dripping between my curled fingers. You lightly brush my ass cheeks with your lips. I lift my ass (just so). And each time you brush, I lift with a deeper moan. My arms are taut from the strain of my personal-public pleasure; this show is for you alone.
My gasps strain for you with sounds ragged like the shape of your name, like the curves of “yes” and “please.” And when you finally reach for me, it is for the crease at my hips that hooks me and pulls me up (just so) onto the wet of your mouth, the swell of your glorious hard… the slam and pound of our voracious need.
Just so.
Sweet Lover, just so.
– Lola Moi –
how you say it…
When you say my hands are magic
When you gasp for air and look at me wild-eyed
When you put your fingers in my mouth, still wet and sweet from me
When you lift me, flip me, and kiss me
When you wait for me to suck
When you settle back and watch me
Isn’t that your way of asking for more?
heads or tails…
romeo had juliet…
oh, my juice…
I masturbate.
I think of you.
I cum.
… because there is this: your lips, your tongue, your fingers, your anything you want… tracing over these dips and waves of me. You trace me, leaving a trail. And I watch you. I fucking want you. My hands hold you – slip along your nape – and my fingers slide through your hair as you pass over me again. And again. My fingers grip your dewy tip, I cup the throat of your cock, choking it, gripping your heat; your shaft warms me. I know because I feel your heat mix with mine – slick, between my thighs and folds of my sweet cunt – it slides between my ass cheeks. I am like this for you. We will fuck soon. I want you to fill me as much as you want, as deep as you can, as hard and hungry as we must. I tug and spin my clever fingers around the head of your throbbing need and down, down, to your rock-hard base. Your balls fit perfectly in my hands. You are so beautiful.
I kiss you and bite your lip – my tongue, a foreshadow of what is to cum.
You moan and grow even more in my hands.
Oh, my juice… I am so wet. So fucking wet.
song of the water…
a hard day’s night…
