Tag Archives: calling out to belong

the final frontier…

I drank her silence
like liquor
and it destroyed
me the same,
but I fell for all of her,
hopelessly and endlessly.
My soul will always be liftedthe-final-frontier
when she walks into the room
and my blood will always dance
when her breath
passes through me.

— Christopher Poindexter —

how hard is hard enough…

Dear Gentle Sir,

What is it like to see the look in my eyes change because of the pleasure you bring to my body? What is it to feel my wet heat seep between the fingers that are knuckle deep in my cunt? How do my warm folds snuggle up against your pumping cock? What part of your body clenches when my mouth drops open as so many moans for you tumble out?

I want to be your chest that heaves with urgency as you undress me. I want to be your eyes that watch our bodies become one and separate and become one over and over again. I want to be your nerves that tingle when my tongue traces around your ears and balls and inner thighs.

What is it that makes it so easy to say “no” to me? What is it that whispers in your reasoning mind when I admit how your skin makes mine heat and my clit ache? What compels you to turn away knowing how I gush and soak my panties every time I hear your voice?

I want to spread for you. I want to jiggle with abandon as we take turns riding riding riding. I want to make you dizzy with permission. I want your hand to be mine and feel it squeeze from the intense pleasure you give me. I want to watch your jaw set with determination as my cum draws near. I want our lips to almost touch as we make a delicious mess together.

What is it that makes you say “yes” to any part of me? What is it about me that charges your balls to swirl under your raging-hard cock? What is it that invites you to think about me even when you don’t mean to or want to or imagine you should? What is it that compels you to spread me wide with your imagination?

I want you. I want you to want me. I want to be you with me; to watch what I feel and experience that deepening of yourself inside you. I want to be your tongue that tastes my goodness and light and power and promise. I want my pleasure to drip into your mouth as it fuels your spirit. I want to look down or up or sideways or over my shoulder, seeing you there… with me.

Deeply Yours,

Lola xo

three times my life has opened…

Three times my life has opened.
Once, into darkness and rain.
Once, into what the body carries at all times within it and starts
to remember each time it enters the act of love.
Once, to the fire that holds all.
These three were not different.
You will recognize what I am saying or you will not.
But outside my window all day a maple has stepped from her leaves
like a woman in love with winter, dropping the colored silks.
Neither are we different in what we know.
There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light
stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor,
or the one red leaf the snow releases in March.

— Jane Hirshfield —

skin lane…

People think that it is in the tangle of bodies, in the actual congress, that one person invades another and takes possession of them; that it is on the bed that we give ourselves up.

Well it is true that there is a surrender there that is unlike any other, but the real time they get under your skin is when you spend these hours alone, preparing for them; imagining them.

That is everything, sometimes more.

 

— Neil Bartlett

under this glorious moon…

We could be taking in such sweet delight.
We could be enjoying the best sex of our lives.
We could be hard and wet from such an invite.
We could be smiling as the other writhes.

Come to bed.
While the moon whispers what is most true.
Come to bed.
While you see this look I have from wanting you.
Come to bed.
This pleasure we share needs tending to.

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the hours…

We throw our parties… we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. Its as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we’re very fortunate, by time itself. There‘s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) know these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning;
we hope, more than anything, for more.
Heaven only knows why we love it so…

— Michael Cunningham —

there’s no shortcut…

Many people have come and left, and it has been always good
because they emptied some space for better people.
It is a strange experience, that those who have left me
have always left places for a better quality of people.

— Osho —

just breathe…

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