Tag Archives: at his tender mercy

start where you are…

start where you are

You can’t go back and change the beginning,
but you can start where you are
and change the ending.

— C. S. Lewis —

it’s the little things…

that make all the difference.

poetry in motion…







We spoke all night
in tongues,
in fingertips,
in teeth.

  — Robert Haas —

this new day is too dear…

Beside me, warm from sleep, you roll over to gently place your waking mouth on my soft and dreamy nipples. Your warmth slowly traces me awake. It is this subtle stirring you seek:

The way my breath shifts from deep to shallow. The way my hips adjust, slightly pushing into your growing hard. The way your fingertips slip along sleep lines, tenderly imprinting your silent desire for me. The way my nipples sweetly harden enough for you to nibble and with my quiet moan, you feel my back arch, slipping my whole breast into your warm, wet mouth.

Such diffused urgency builds benevolence: the gift of these early hours. Neither feeling the need to think or be anything but untold tenderness.  When you breathe my skin under the covers, I taste you already between my legs.

Such simplicity opens us both to the other, to All That Is Possible. As you travel my length, I spread and swirl in slow motion; I want you to caress and hold me with hand and feet and lips and tongue and cock until all that is hard and wet and full uncoils within us like moany groans of ancient ships.

All the while, morning light streams through cracks. I watch my fingers slip through your hair and along your broad shoulders. I give myself to you. It is not long until I lift the covers and slip under with you; I too will taste the length of all your Pleasure.

Under cover of morning we will breathe in the other (and more) until heady with cum, we finally have the wherewithal to whisper “Good morning.”

all my puny sorrows…

all my puny sorrows 1

I’ve trusted the wrong people, men I thought were good.
I’ve given more than was wise.

So, when your kisses spread like wildfire through me,
When your touch ignites even the calmest of storms,
Everything finally makes sense.

All things sing:
that was but a wannabe kind of joy but this, this…
I am finally free.


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