caçadores de tempestades…
I undress you
because I want to
and in this simple action of removal
you are seen.
Like a whirling dervish
my tongue weaves magic.
Your breath the wind
bending tree boughs to its will.
A curtain parts
The space inside blooms.
Out here in the real world
people suffer a kind of emptiness they do not understand.
That echo they hear
whenever they speak?
they hear as car horns
or train tracks clicking past nowhere on the horizon.
There is no velvet to touch
No silk to grip, to sing into.
My lips part to say your name
The storm approaches.
– Lola Moi –
to make them blush…
The words that make the rose bloom were also said to me.
The words told to the cypress to make it grow strong and straight,
The instructions whispered to the jasmine,
And whatever was said to the sugarcane to make it sweet,
And to the pomegranate flowers to make them blush,
The same thing is being said to me.
– Anne Lamott –
in the light of thy countenance…
Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.
– Brené Brown –
under a waterfall…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Those fingers between my lips – both of them – are yours. Here, against the shower wall, I spread my long legs (with my foot propped on the ledge, leaning against you). The split of my impossibly smooth thighs invite you to push deeper, to race along the velvet corridor of my cunt. My hips tilt, guiding your eager tips to my sweet g-spot. My jaw drops. My hands find the back of your neck as the water races down, over my smooth mound. I am spread again. For you.
Our eyes meet as my hand grips your wrist, holding you inside me. I push you farther in. I want you here. I want you finger-deep in me and I want to fuck like this. At least for now. At least until you slip out and rub my clit with a focus and intensity that drills me into my hungriest self.
Then back inside. Please. Come back inside. Fuck me hungry like this. For now. Again.
Your fingers make me bite my lip, make me arch my back, make me push into you so that your muscles strain to hold me upright, to fuck me straight. Your fingers plunge, they make me moan. Even reading this, you feel the vibration of my breathless cry in your bones… and our desire leaks out of you in dewy drops that crown the head of your glorious cock. My juice fills your palm, and down your forearm, bathing you in adoration.
I need you like this, plummeting my depths, stirring up this passion, this connection we’ve only dared dream. All this that falls out of me and over you – is a waterfall of grace, appreciation… intimacy. It is my soul. This trust that spreads me and fills me, that makes me buck against you – calling me to dig my nails into your shoulder, bite your chest, and moan from the most secret part of me – is my gift to you.
Yes, you.
I love your hands; a gentleman’s palm… always. You, my sweet lover’s caress. My secret hunger made gorgeous flesh in you. Go on, choose: choose two fingers and turn the hot water on.
I’m waiting,
Lola Moi xo
again…
I want to taste you again, like a secret or a sin.
– Matthew Perryman Jones –
we are each other…
On our knees
our bodies buck…
And the moon
hears our pleas.
L
L
L
L
the ____ she is…
YY
There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.
– Sara Zarr –
open our wings…
Something opens our wings.
Something makes boredom and hurt disappear.
Someone fills the cup in front of us:
We taste only sacredness.
– Rumi –
feeding you…
My fingers find their way to your mouth. You open for me and let me in. Tentatively… no, gently, I enter: one finger at first. Your tongue: warm and intelligent, dances with my curious skin. We listen to the music of our breath, and soon the tempo of my heartbeat pushes me deeper. I can taste you. I can taste the pleasure between us.
I moan.
You sigh most deliciously.
I could stay here forever, with my breasts resting snug against your chest, your hands lightly holding my hips. Our lips barely touch. We are so close together… all we are is breath. My fingers deftly trace and mark my need; my gasps become the sound of our shared desire. Your warm, moist, hungry mouth tugs and I arch as your confident hands pull my wet closer. Yes, my wet – you can taste it through my fingers and now we both moan.
Your soft tongue wrapped around my finger is naked…
