Tag Archives: back dimples


When you don’t ask but I do it, anyway.


 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

vernal equinox…

vernal equinox







The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies

between me and my book;

And the South Wind, washing through the room,
Makes the candles quiver.
My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,
And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots
Outside, in the night.

Why are you not here to overpower me with your

tense and urgent love?

— Amy Lowell —


open invitation…

open invitation

You have such a pretty mouth.
To feed it only kisses
would be a wasted opportunity.

— Michael Faudet —


o, tannenbum…

o, tannenbum

the broken heart…

the broken heart

And so it was I entered the broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

 — Hart Crane —

tunnel vision…

The problem with looking for images for this blog is that on days like today, I simply cannot choose; you are everywhere. You are in me, on me, behind me. We are wrapped, splayed, spread. I am reaching, pumping, dripping.  Together: under, beside, on top. And again: licking, moaning, squirting.

Lover, you are everywhere.

Each image, every video reminds me of what we’ve already done or fuels hope for what might yet be. And I am whipped into horny wet… here, where I sit. I soak my panties thinking about you. I rush home, I climb into bed, into the tub – anywhere I can be wet wet wet. And all I want is to cum with you – for you… and you, for me.

And you have no idea, my Sweet how sexy you truly are.

Truth is, these days are many – so fucking many days like today – when you are all my skin can think about. When I am overwhelmed with wanting you. When I know how well-met we are in that secret place the other needs.

For how complex things are, this is simple: I want you. And I know: you want me. Fuck, I want you more than I know how to say. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Just, fuck.

tunnel vision


another gravity…


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 –


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