when nothing special happens…
tender thots…
L
L
L
the tenderest of thots
begin in secret…
it went like this…
I want you, your brain, your body
(yes)
to fuck me senseless, to leave me with whisker burn for days
to feel naked even with clothes on
for want of remembering the way you look at me
(moan)
i want you to kiss me everyfuckingwhere
and lick me
grab me and hold me
(yes, fuck)
i want you, your brain, your body
to make love, sweet and gentle and slow
to me, just me
to love and fuck
fuck and love
(it’s all i want)
until i am turned inside out from care
left beautiful for your caresses
left shining from deep adoration
(fuck, yes)
our lingering goosebumps
a living torture
wanting to give more
a testament to shared desire
this once-gift
(yes yes yes)
an irretrievable truth between lovers
– Lola Moi –
too much…
You can never have too much sky.
You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky,
and sky can keep you safe when you are sad.
Here there is too much sadness and not enough sky…
– Sandra Cisneros –
equinox, my love…
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.
The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
– William Blake, “To Autumn”
When I kiss, my lips are tender and nibble
and my breath sweet can be heard in
that autumn forest as a river runs
down your spine; you are a mouth that licks
the back of my hand nibbling on my fingers
while I find the crease of your vulva
and liberate the edges. You’re a lovely,
fertile reef where impossible swans
hold my cock within the fireworks
spoken as light storms remember
the reflected grace of your mouth
and eyes when we stare into that abyss
that never stops so wonderful sex
rides our back to an ancient sea
forgotten when the tide pools break.
– Letter from Sean Farragher to Anaïs Nin