Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
— Wendell Berry —
not his cuppa…
which matters little
so long as I am yours.
home…
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.
if you listen…
“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret,
between the shadow and the soul.”
I say there is no love in lies.
You say nothing and I think, we will find one another in the middle.
we say…
This is what we say:
There is nothing special about the way you make me feel.
A thousand thoughts have done it before.
There is nothing unique about the way you touch me.
A million dreams have done the same.
At least
this is what we say.
This is what we say
when the clouds shield moon from stars
and her from him
or him from her.
This is what we say
and we’re not wrong
as long as we say we’re right.
And as long as we stay in the clouds
we stay blind.
No matter the thousands or millions before
or after
we stay and never move.
This is what we forget:
We forget what moved us was his smell
after a day in the world without you.
We forget what moved us was her smile
how her touch found you in the forgotten secrets of your skin.
We forget how contentment feels listening to her voice
and feeling his hand take yours.
We forget that we can ask.
We forget that we can Be.
We forget that we can confess.
We forget that we are one another’s need.
We forget
that we are unlike any other
yet wholly like the other
entirely ourselves.
Matched.
Lost and found
until we find our way again.
I want.
I need.
I desire.
Yes.
I accept.
At least
This is what we say.
– Lola Moi –
one burst of light…
How the world may be changed
In just one burst of light!
And what was right
Seems wrong
And what was wrong
Seems right…
– Les Miserable –
a fervor parches you sometimes…
A fervor parches you sometimes,
And you hunch over it, silent,
Cruel, and timid; and sometimes
You are frightened with wantonness,
And give me your desperation.
Mostly we lurk in our coverts,
Protecting our spleens, pretending
That our bandages are our wounds.
But sometimes the wheel of change stops;
Illusion vanishes in peace;
And suddenly pride lights your flesh –
Lucid as diamond, wise as pearl –
And your face, remote, absolute,
Perfect and final like a beast’s.
It is wonderful to watch you,
A living woman in a room
Full of frantic, sterile people,
And think of your arching buttocks
Under your velvet evening dress,
And the beautiful fire spreading
From your sex, burning flesh and bone,
The unbelievably complex
Tissues of you brain all alive
Under your coiling, splendid hair.
I like to think of you naked.
I put your naked body
Between myself alone and death.
If I go into my brain
And set fire to you sweet nipples,
To the tendons beneath your knees,
I can see far before me.
It is empty there where I look,
But at least it is lighted.
I know how your shoulders glisten,
How your face sinks into trance,
And your eyes like a sleepwalker’s,
And your lips of a woman
Cruel to herself.
I like to
Think of you clothed, your body
Shut to the world and self-contained,
Its wonderful arrogance
That makes all women envy you.
I can remember every dress,
Each more proud than a naked nun.
When I go to sleep my eyes
Close in a mesh of memory.
Its cloud of intimate odor
Dreams instead of myself.
– Kenneth Rexroth –
