My mouth is a fire escape.
The words coming out
don’t care that they are naked.
There is something burning in there.
— Andrea Gibson —
to which we are attached…
Dear Gentle Sir,
There are things I remember on nights like this when the moon is full and wind blows off the crashing waves of a lake.
There was the way it felt to walk hand-in-hand, your tall shoulder shadowing mine. Our smiles, silent backdrop to the tinkling summer leaves around us. The grit of sand underfoot, wrapped around my sighs just like your strong arms once held me.
The kiss that stopped us both. The hands that peeled our clothes. The legs that gripped you as you lifted and carried me. The bed that creaked under the weight of our anticipation.
The smooth edges of your groaning cock. The weight of your chest and hips. The wet roaming of our tongues. The bucking of our moans. The spreading of my legs and bending of my back. The fucking of our fingers and mouths and more… so much.
The way it felt to look into your eyes and want more. The way it felt to see my desire mirrored. The way you moaned and reached… for me, for your cock, for me… again. The spontaneous shifts and spreadings and splitting aparts to deeper wet, to heat beyond either of our wildest dreams.
To want you. To see you. To fuck you. To squirt for you. To cum with you. To find in you, reciprocal delight.
There are things I remember on nights like this when the moon is full and wind blows off the crashing waves of a lake. Mostly, I remember magic and minor miracles… puffs of Goodness. Mostly, I remember you.
Longingly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
things i would like to do to you…
mantra…
there was time then
when love meant falling
love meant there was in
and out of it, love meant
so many adjectives
we kept losing the noun
under it all, remember the scraping then?
of naked knees against unwanted moments.
now love, love has nothing ha! nothing
but itself
and we rise
rise rise again
into each now
into this centre
where valleys and peaks
lie together in negatives
against a sky
and every image is love
making itself
i cannot fall in love with you.
do you see?
now we rise and meet on a line
where love opens these countless petals
your fingers yes are there
inside of them
your toes too, each eyelash
all fragrant fresh and fruits filling us
a harvest like a storm
love rises into itself
through all this geometry
and in becoming
we touch as one
with what was missing all along,
(auhm mane padme om)
– E.K. –
the student…
I don’t believe in them
but somewhere
there are gods
hiding inside of their own heads
using all their might
trying to stop their own eardrums from pounding out
the sound of your name
you are lightning
trying to tame thunder
leaving split second scars against the sky
as if you were breaking the skin of something that won’t die
my first instinct
is the same as my second
strongly reinforced
as if by a diamond sheeting
that donated its glimmer to charity so that it could look dull and tough
a shine now scuffed
as if the world left a bruise on light
I fight my instinct long enough to realize
that I won’t win
I give in
surrendering to an impulse
somewhat believing that my imprisonment will not involve torture if I I confess everything I know
I know
nothing
I bring an emptiness to your need
like a dog laying a skeleton at your feet bone by bone
I lay stone all around you in a circle as if at any moment you will burst into flame and warm us
long enough so that I can tell you my ghost story
that a part of me
still haunts my memory
it throws chairs against my mirrored mind
cracking the reflections
in which I once thought
I would find answers
if I reflect long enough
there will be answers
but like mail on Sunday
none came
so I sit before flowers
hoping they will train me in the art
of opening up
I stand on mountain tops believing
that avalanches will teach me to let go
I know
nothing
but I am here to learn.
– Shane Koyczan –