waiting patiently for you to turn away from all your busy comings and goings, to recognize her, greet her, and welcome her home.
— Katrina Kenison —
say it again…
Dear Gentle Sir,
There is that moment before I appear: it is the breath that catches you – not the other way around. It is the moment you didn’t know you needed to capture and hold because once I appear, everything changes; each and every time.
You tell yourself that this time is like any other time; you and I are here, together, seeing one another and really, it’s no big deal; we are here in this way, as we must be. But your body… and the surprising way your heart just tripped – barely a little – tells the true story of us.
You say it’s me but you surprise yourself, constantly; the way your skin reaches for mine through each inhale. (Don’t worry, we won’t discuss the ways you try not to smell me on your clothes moments, hours, days later.)
In fact, the way my head tilts as I listen does not make you want to sink into silence as you softly – deftly – bring out the tender, fervid treasure of secret pleasures within me. And when my hair falls out of its tie, over my shoulders, and spills down my back, that is not an impulse to nibble my clit or lick me anywhere; you are immune to what has been and whatever might have…
When we laugh together, those tingles racing, racing, down and out and in and through your body are not because my boisterous laugh pleases your nor does it make you want to make me happy; you are not inspired by me. After all.
There is that moment before you check your watch: it is the pause before we touch one last time that claims your hope. It is the moment you didn’t know you needed to capture and hold because once I disappear, everything changes; each and every time.
Kiss,
Lola xo
not the first…
Dear Gentle Sir,
I loved a man who was afraid of the Possible – the enormity of it. With me, he began to experience himself in his truest dimensions, that is, until he couldn’t bear it. So, he blamed me for his growing fear. He became afraid of me, not realizing it had nothing to do with me; I simply showed up and held up a mirror. He looked. He saw. He chose another – as is his wont. He prefers that which keeps him, contains him, controls him.
But even now, it is still in him – all that is Possible.
And it still has nothing to do with me.
These days, he tells himself things are great, that he is in a better place than ever before but he’s a step beside where he was before me: he is still small; he remains secretly, deeply afraid of the enormity of himself, of his own Light. He is happiest when he can hide.
Where once there was love, there now lives insight and a kind of wounded wisdom. Every time I kiss you, I wonder if you will (again), like him, take your turn and blame me for your fear? Or will you focus on my nipples, my glowing clit, and hot moans… hoping to drown out the terrifying call of what is Possible within you? Of the choices you are too afraid to make?
Truth is, it won’t be the first time.
I imagine you won’t try to be the last.
If I’m still here, that is.
Thoughtfully Yours,
Lola xo
when dreams feel like real life…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Must I remind you?
When you hold me, firmly, losing yourself inside the flavours I am.
Your voice, especially when pleasure overtakes you.
Your hands gently, almost secretly, caressing mine.
The growing bob of your eager cock, and the way you watch me enjoying you.
The shiver you make when my tongue and lips read between the lines.
The surprise on your face when I blush from your masculine beauty.
The moan I am when I am with you.
The fucking moan I cannot keep inside.
Achingly Yours,
Lola xo
too often in life…
The real damage is done by those millions who want to ‘survive.’ The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes.
Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves-or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature.
Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what?
Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.
— Sophie Scholl —
i could drink a case of you…
Still I’d be on my feet.
the sight of the stars…
You appeared before me in my dreams;
as yet unseen, you were already dear.
Your wondrous gaze filled me with longing,
your voice resounded in my heart,
long ago… no, it wasn’t a dream!As soon as you arrived, I recognized you.
Have you not spoken to me in silence?
Have you not stooped gently at my bedside,
and whispered words of joy and love,
and whispered the words, “who are you?”My fate, I entrust to you.
I can wait, I can wait…
You are my terrible angel,
my beautiful tempter…What dark can come, when love is so light?
O, night is past,
everything is awake,
and the sun is rising…
lllllllllll— Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky —