Tag Archives: diffused light

full as craving…

… along the creases of my softest skin.

in this freedom, bold…

in this freedom, bold

All of a sudden, I miss your mouth.

 

 

Boobday

mark of the beast (dodging bullets)…

A sea of faces parted and there, I found my heart.
a joy awoken that broke me wide open
A sea of kisses later, and there I left my mark.
a light reborn that guided me home
A sea of betrayals found me, and here I stand alone.
a dark i defy that was never mine to own

dodging bullets

open invitation…

open invitation

You have such a pretty mouth.
To feed it only kisses
would be a wasted opportunity.

— Michael Faudet —

 

a poem without a single bird in it…

a poem without a single bird in it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What will I say to you, darling,
When you ask me for help?
I do not know the future.
Or even what poetry,
We are going to write.
Commit suicide. Go mad. Better people
Than either of us have tried it.
I loved you once but,
I do not know the future.
I only know that I love strength in my friends.
And greatness.
And hate the way the body cracks,
And is eaten by images.
The fun’s over. The picnic’s over.
Commit suicide. Go mad. There will be nothing left
After we die or go mad… but the calmness of poetry

And love.

— Jack Spicer —

you may ask…

you may ask

not our darkness that most frightens…

You sit in the light for me because I ask you to. You wait. You stroke my leg with a secret smile, and let me drink you in. I lose myself in my looking, in all your shadowed man-grooves. I lose my breath in your stillness. This pause we take is a lesson I don’t want to forget. I close my eyes; I want to imprint you deeper. When I open them, there you are – still waiting – wanting to be seen.

We are learning to be with one another, here, in this light that softens the heated edge of an afternoon delight. You lean back and even from this distance, I can taste your skin. Even as my supple clit thickens and my lips whet, you wait for me to be done with you. And in such thots, we stumble. Headlong, we stumble past one another in the crowded halls of Time. A cycle well-worn.

What songs are sung for a soul who seeks?
Who dances when the moon’s teat drips with longing?

There is nothing poetic about falling in love; it is starkest reality and basest need exposed. Utterly, it spends us even as we bleed. To love is to choose to be raw. Open.

Here with you, I walk blindly into an ancient light that conceals nothing, a light that wholly reveals from the inside. And suddenly, it is me sitting in front of another, being seen. We have shape-shifted into all our Unexpecteds. What there is, though, is light; a light that changes everything.

Look up, my soul whispers.
Here I am, my sweet.
Look up into Love.
Walk into the light.

I see you.

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