broken record…
Fuck, I need you here.
look me in the eye…
… when you cum.
to grow old…
all my puny sorrows…
I’ve trusted the wrong people, men I thought were good.
I’ve given more than was wise.
So, when your kisses spread like wildfire through me,
When your touch ignites even the calmest of storms,
Everything finally makes sense.
All things sing:
that was but a wannabe kind of joy but this, this…
I am finally free.
a tiny, insignificant detail…
If you love a Flower,
don’t pick it – it dies
and ceases to be what you love,
let it be,
love is not about possession.Love is about appreciation.
— Osho —
a guide to being born…
heart and. . .
The thing your woman wants most from you is for you to hunt her down, pry her open and find her core.
– Kim Anami –
the sound of things falling…
The smooth edges of my pussy glide up along your legs to your hips and farther still; I shift and adjust, finally resting at peace here behind you. I trust you with my weight. With the smoothest part of myself, I come to stillness atop your broad back. The oil slides. When I stroke and knead, your body winces from memories it will not speak – the details of all your hurts and joys I will likely never know.
There is a knot wrapped around one of your ribs, under your arm. I place my hand on this, this secret. My long legs straddle your width and our flesh mingles. My clit nestles. You are warm; I am grateful for your heat. With each inhale, I feel your expanse under the soft of my palm. I ease myself into this tender spot hidden under your arm, in the shadow of your bony cage.
For all our uncertainty, you allow me here – with you, in this place. I hold it dear, like a fawn who has yet to try her legs. I protect what lies under hand. This is what I do for you. And in return you close your eyes and breathe… just, breathe. This is what we are: a man and a woman, naked. We are the shadow.
And there is nothing between us. . . nothing except the hot breath of secrets.
when we said yes (or, roads taken)…
Afterwards.
We lay like that for a time. It should have been awkward but each breath was… simple. Quiet. And this stillness brought with it a calm, a terrifying calm. Each freckle, each edge of stubble, each bead of sweat still shining on his forehead was a beacon to something I’d never seen before – a storm inside me I’d left for others to read about in some story, long ago left dusty on a shelf. But here, now: each breath softened hard edges, drawing us closer, revealing a fit I never knew possible.