is showing up.
you own my moan…
when the world gets quiet…
Have you ever seen someone – a stranger – who is so delectable to look at that you are compelled to imagine them naked? And once they are naked in your mind’s eye – as you ride the transit or stand in line to get your ticket – you find yourself coupling with them in the most tantalizing of ways… have you ever?
Well, this is what happens to me every time I see you. I am utterly compelled to ravish you. I am devastated with adoration. I am buoyed by the coupling that awaits us.
life is no nintendo game…
song for the mo(u)rning…
A
A
A
That early light burns most clear
and I am its brink
My song the breaking point…
dickens says (and so do i)…
You are part of my existence, part of my self. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since — on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets.
You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be… to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.
catch your breath…
Honeyed alabaster.
Flawless skin, smooth like silk. No, like air. She moves across the room and you can’t take your eyes off her. A freckle. A cocktail dress clings to the sides of her small, generous curves; her breasts slightly rambunctious and buoyant. The emerald-green bounces light into her sweet, brown eyes. The waves and coils of her hair catch your breath like a spider’s web.
Bewitched.
I slip between you: softly, hungrily licking and lifting the creamy sauce from her slick, velvety creases.
Our cries – melodic in their intensity, harmonized in their passion – crescendo.
Succubus.
– Lola Moi –
proof is in the pudding…
