It is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world.
— Mary Oliver —
unmarked trails (invitation)…
when dreams feel like real life…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Must I remind you?
When you hold me, firmly, losing yourself inside the flavours I am.
Your voice, especially when pleasure overtakes you.
Your hands gently, almost secretly, caressing mine.
The growing bob of your eager cock, and the way you watch me enjoying you.
The shiver you make when my tongue and lips read between the lines.
The surprise on your face when I blush from your masculine beauty.
The moan I am when I am with you.
The fucking moan I cannot keep inside.
Achingly Yours,
Lola xo
wide awake, on tiptoe…
They are patient and wise, these barely-feminine hands of mine. They seek. They know truth before I do – this is the scent they follow.
I cup your beautiful face. My hands guide me as words get lost in your eyes, in the thick lump that forms in my throat. As I trace, my fingers taste you, your fear, your need and your hunger. Along your jaw, over your lips, around your ears, sliding down and around your neck.
Something about your skin cradled against mine heats me – my cheeks, the nape of my neck, my soft soft cunt-folds. My caress guides us both to a resting place – a place beyond, sourced from a breath-like tremble.
I have been told that my hands are intoxicating but only when touching you, do I sense some of what that might mean. I’m almost afraid to touch you more – to learn you are less than you trust me to hold.
Already I feel the full force of being seen by one who will not fully choose me and in that same breath, I defy the shadow of all we cannot be.
all roads lead home…
The day will be what you make it,
so rise, like the sun,
and burn.— William C. Hannan —
beautiful gifts…
Our practice is to find our true home.
When we breathe, we breathe in such a way
that we can find our true home.
When we make a step,
we make a step in such a way
that we touch our true home with our feet.
— Thich Nhat Hanh —
blessings for the longest night…
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.
So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
– Jan Richardson –