Slide your tongue here, where I am softest.
Kiss me like you mean it.
Pin my arms above my head, nibble my neck
As you slide your thick need between my sweet, wet folds.
Hold my legs over my head and suckle me from ass to clit.
Don’t stop; I want you to make me moan.
Pull your cock out, free yourself, and give into my admiration.
Let me tongue you in those places you barely touch,
Have rarely given over to another.
Feel my hands on you; holding, pulling, caressing with my care.
Forgive my urgency, my need, my wet.
Believe every time I’ve ever adored you; there is no other story.
It may be the full moon calling us.
It may be the waves echoing memory.
After all, the moontide reminds us that past is always present.
There is no mystery or charm to the Why.
It may be the simple fact that you never left.
It may be the deepest truth that I am here because you are here
And you are you,
And you are enough.
We are worthy of our desire, of this union,
And of this heat that builds into fire.
In this, we are well-met.
Mirrors to the other in surprising ways.
It is not enough to be flesh; we are more
In this meeting of mind, body, and soul.
This, we know.
— Lola Moi —
