I’ve waited all day for this…
the best preparation…
You don’t need to be inspired to write a poem.
You need to reach down and touch the thing
that’s boiling inside of you
and make it somehow useful.
— Audre Lorde —
fever pitch…
You place me at the perfect height: our eyes peer directly into the other’s. your hips gently push my legs apart as you move in to kiss me. And like today’s welcome rain, the tenderness of your lips refreshes me like each drop of cleansing, wet air. We pause to simply drink one another in. Your gaze incites release. I feel my heart sob with joy.
I trace your sweet face and with each adoring sweep, I hold you so that I might give you the gift that lesser men have quailed from: I see you with open eyes. I accept your imperfect, scared smallest self. I smile, willing a courage I barely recognize myself. My fingertips imprint light into every crack they find. I trust, and in this, I offer you the best of myself.
You can feel pressure inside your chest building; it builds inside the history of your borders and boundaries, inside what others have forbidden and allowed, inside the dam that barely holds your fear at bay. You feel lost inside all this… space. Permission. You look down, away from me.
“It… feels… too much,” you say.
“To be found?” I ask.
Startled, you meet my eyes. And suddenly kiss me again. This time, on my temples, my brow, my high cheekbones, my sweet dimples, and full lips. Your hands hold me as your body urgently speaks words you’re not yet brave enough to say.
Your fingers deftly – tenderly – slide from my knee, up my velvety inner thigh and lighty… so so lightly, your fingers move up and down, inching closer to the wet that swells my pussy. Reaching the velvety corner deep between my legs, between my thighs and mound, you look at me again, intent. You watch my expression as your fingers slowly so slowly flip and dance, back and forth – this time moving closer to my swollen, pulsing lips.
The fever has pitched. My petal-soft folds moan their pleasure through my throat. It comes out a gasping breath, a call and response led by my voice saying your name. My panties now to the side, I lean back with my long legs spread and I hook my calves and feet around you.
This time our shared gaze smolders. This time, when you put your fingers in my mouth, one-by-one, your jaw drops a little with anticipation. My looking at you is unadorned. I want you inside me so fucking much. I am hunger and need and promise personified. I am yours. We are your bidding…
poetry is an echo…
My tongue tastes the secrets you breathe into stillness. I feel your body tense. These places you hide, that are rarely indulged, this is where I linger. Curious. Fierce in my tenderness.
My lips barely touch you as I trace along your length. When I pause, your cock bobs against my warm skin – in the velvet-smooth dip between my mound and hip. My kisses move up your chest to your mouth. I hold the gloriously smooth head of your hard cock with my fingertips: a promise I won’t neglect. I cannot get enough of how you taste; our tongues dance deeper, enraptured, slipping along the moans we sigh.
My nipples are hard but you are distracted by their softness pressed tight against your chest. Your hands spread and hold me tighter, sliding up and down my sides, squeezing me whenever you feel the urge to speak… to enter.
We are full with feeling but the air is thick with our silence. Your cock aches to meet the juicy wet of my pussy. We smell of sex already. I say your name, barely audible; my desire for you overwhelms me, frankly. Your smile inspires my pussy lips with a rush, a pleasure unlike any waterfall.
My hair hangs down my back. You lose and then wrap your hand in my long, dark locks… you tug and spin me around. You bend me over and on your knees, suck my thick cunt from behind until my gasps drown out the messy gulps you make.
You make me so fucking wet. I please you so fucking much. I push back into your face. And as you dip, suck, and slide, you jerk your beautiful cock exactly the way you like… no, the way you love.
But I want you in me. I want to spread my legs and watch your face as your cock fills me. I try to turn around but you hold me there, devouring me in wet laps. I drop my head farther to the ground, my hands barely holding me up, my knees try not to buckle as your tongue suspends me in delicious, moaning pleasure.
“Your clit. Play with it. The way you like it. Please, your clit.”
And as your head disappears again between my cheeks and my legs, I finger my clit for you. The shaking begins almost right away. My gasps intersperse with your moans. Hearing your voice, feeling the tremor of its vibration between my legs pushes me beyond: I want you so fucking much.
I push my fingers between my folds. They brush up against your tongue and lips and soon, your fingers join mine and I am spread. You dance your tongue like a magician and I am bucking into your face, suspended on my toes as your fingers replace mine and lift me, lift me, lift.
Upright, I turn slightly and my arm wraps around your shoulders. You swoop me up and carry me to the bed. On my back, I reach for you with legs spread but you turn me over and plow into me from behind. Your jaw is set and determined. You will make me cum if it’s the last thing you ever do. I reach to the end of the bed, pushing back into your slamming hips, and beg you to make it so.
My “yes” becomes redundant with jubilation. I sing your name with breathy, harsh, hungry moans. You pull my hip even tighter and with your free hand, slip your thumb into my ass, plunging inside me now with a fervour that surprises you.
“Can you feel it? Can you feel your cock inside me?”
Your head dropping back in a throaty moan is all the answer I need. Both your cock and your thumb dig deeper as I return to my clit. I like this sandwich we’ve made. I can feel myself trying to hold my squirt in; I want to cum with you. I want to feel us soak the bed together.
“… ohplease, please, I am so close” I beg. My “yes'” now guide each pound. Our hot bodies slap all slick against the other. We are so close. We are so close. We are so so so fucking close…
sleep deprived…
After a long day, I slip under the covers and…
gently remind myself where your tongue has been.
this freedom inside…
We should choose someone
because they make us come alive
with passion and feel empowered.
— Laura Brown —
fake happiness is the worst sadness…
it doesn’t take much…
It doesn’t take much for me to moan when I feel this slick from my soft that glistens on the inside of my softest of sweet thighs.
I sigh as my clothes lift and separate from my body.
I cum watching your blushing need rush straight to your head.
It doesn’t take much for my jaw to clench when my fingers trace your skin and for my lips – the ones I shaved mere hours ago for you – to begin to swell with dewy drip.
I moan and bite my lip, fingering myself for you.
I cum just thinking about you.
It doesn’t take much for my nipples to harden and my back to arch and my legs to spread and my ass to lift and my clit to fill and thrum and more moaning more more more I say in whispers, just like I breathlessly adore your name.
I gasp touching myself for you.
I cum remembering you.
Fuck.
I cum and cum and cum for you.
tiny acts of grace…
the end is near…
Like, really near…
