little songs…

little songs

 

 

 

We have entered
each other’s atmosphere
In isolation,
the way a bee knows
The deep shadows
in the folds of a flower
But doesn’t know
what a bouquet is,

   — Rowan Ricardo Phillips

perhaps you will…

I just want you to lie still. Naked, in front of me. I want you to let me look at you, really look at you in all your glory. I want you to see my acceptance. I want you to see my delight. I want you to see my desire for the man you are, lying before me. Don’t close your eyes while I tenderly trace your skin. Be prepared for when I look into your eyes so that our souls may lock even as my fingers and hands continue their journey along your various lengths and widths.

You are glorious. Your giving heats my cheeks. Your quiet moans and wild eyes soak me through. You are so fucking beautiful when you are… this. I could spend all day like this with you.

And what textures you are! Touching you like this, like your lover, quickens my breath. Your body’s dance is my song. Soon we will sing and our cries will crescendo and harmonize and in sweaty disarray, I will let you watch me cum and beg you to join me.

I hope you will.

perhaps you will

stumbling is not falling…

reach deep
through the muck of time
sing
proclaim the past your friend
the present your lover
eat what is to come until you are full
change the lightbulb
not for what your next step might be
but for the room you have just entered
see the marvel that is space-to-be-filled

space to be filled