past lives, future bodies…
immaculate consistency…
Dear Gentle Sir,
At the crosswalk, the stranger eyes me from the other side of the street. He imagines what might be my favourite position even as he places me in his favourite position. He wonders what I might taste like. And if my full lips could make him cum.
He imagines his view standing over me, bent over, ass up, taking it from behind with the kind of wild pleasure he imagines he could give me.
He imagines my expression as I finger myself for him. He watches me intently. Trying to guess what my nipples look like. He notes my long, lean legs and imagines spreading them, watching my pretty pussy squirt all over his tidy work pants.
I allow this. I look him in the eye. He meets my gaze and for a very long moment, he believes that I want him just like he wants me. The light changes. We step into the street and we take deliberate steps towards one other.
I look at this body and appreciate its breadth and width. Without a doubt, his cock would fill me many times over. I note his strong hands and thick neck and the way his jaw clenches as we draw ever closer.
I see the hunger in his eyes—I know that look. He is expectant as our paths meet in the middle of intersection.
He slows a fraction, straightening his spine, making room in his pants for the throbbing shaft that is heating up for me. In that moment, I know I can say anything and it—he— will be mine.
And all that comes to mind is your name.
Only Yours my Love,
Lola xo
manuscripts….
My love, hear me, know this to be true:
My skin is the poetry of your touch
Our story is sung with every moan that spills from my lips
And when you come deep inside me
my name becomes a rite of passage on your soul
you told me you were ready…
things i never forget…
The way your eyes pierce and your jaw sets when you see my naked. A deep thrust followed by your deep kiss. The moan you make as you lean back to watch. Your slow slide inside.
The smile you make as you blush.
The way you kiss me and kiss me and kiss me as your hands please me. Your body, hot and slick, eagerly pressing into me and mine. Watching my bold, taut nipple disappear into your mouth. The perfection of our reflection in the mirror. Your urgency to feel more – torn between watching and tasting more of me. The pitch of your cum-moan as it drifts off into the night.
When you say, “Once more.” and “Again?”
how a poem is born…
Moan.
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…
the only way you can invent tomorrow…
Your fingers know the many secrets of my pleasure.
Your mouth is the key to my sultry moans.
Your cock spreading my lips is a promise
you whisper with your eyes.
last night i sang…
I’m fighting myself. I know I am.
One minute I want to remember.
The next minute I want to live in the land of forgetting.
One minute I want to feel.
The next minute I never want to feel again.
— Benjamin-Alire-Sáenz —
sleep deprived…
After a long day, I slip under the covers and…
gently remind myself where your tongue has been.