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holy fuck, yes…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is a spot in my clit that, when pressed/squeezed/sucked, fills my entire body with delicious squirm. There is a spot along your jaw that has the same effect on me – mostly when you look me in the eyes and smile. And always when you moan. Always then.

There is spot in the crook of each elbow (cousin to the same spots behind my knees) that, when licked/suckled/nibbled, fills me wet and raw with hunger. There is a spot under the head of your cock that has the same effect on me – mostly when you groan and tremble uncontrollably with electric need. And always when you blush. Always then.

There is a spot between us that is silent, still. A space that awaits your touch – suspended time. A breath between us, sometimes translated into words we read. Other times, into the secret, soft crevices of the other’s ear. A pause that is the slick juice between my legs, the hardening of my nipples, the arch of my ass into the air, the sweet swelling of my lips, and the reaching of my heart’s skin to feel you inside me. Again.

And again.
Fuck, I need to feel you again.
To see your eyes full of need for me, and for you to see mine, too.

There is a spot inside you, inside me, that neither of us can deny. (As much as we have tried. And will likely try some more.) You: the calm before the storm. Me: the “yes” to your “no.” We trace these spots – so many spots – in our mind’s eye, each time we lick the tips of fingers that still shine with the slick secret of our honey cum.

To remember is to do.
To do is to create memories new.

“Tell me more. Show me.”

Please,

Lola Moi xo

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the other is for goodness…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There are worlds between us.

When your full head peers into the abyss of my need, my petals spread like wings. I am Pegasus to your Zeus. (Though, who is muse to whom remains a bone of contention – one I’m content to nibble on.) To see you astride me is to believe in quantum physics: how else could we be here? Together. Entwined and wide-eyed like this?

As I arch to make room for you inside me, each intake of air births a belief… in the Impossible and in the Possible. Each moan may sound our names but it’s true nature is a blessing… Given and Taken.

When two become one in the Mystery of Meeting, we become feathers bound by blessed winds flying over mountains of pleasure and valleys of discontent. Each strain, each grip, every time we reach for the other sings us into a new moment. We become this. Together.

And still, you are so beautiful.

Missing You,

Lola Moi xo

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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. –

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my body is a cage…

My skin is soft but what part of me isn’t (besides the scars, I mean)?  My skin, a kind of map, a version of me you choose to trace and buy into. At least for a time. I imagine your fingers trace me because, like me, they are curious about the route we are on and like me, wonder what sights we will see along the way.

We seek direction even when we say we prefer to be lost.

My body secretly warms to your touch; we pretend there is nowhere else you’d rather be. And when we smile, it is not because anything has settled, it is simpler than all that; it is because something grows – and the mystery of our meeting, and sharing, and fatally flawed offerings fill us to spite our tenderest selves.

Yet, in the abundance of hope, in the sanctuary of faith, I speak words full of sacred. I speak the fullness of myself. I utter shape that carves the path leading straight to my heart.

And we dance.
And we dance.
And we dance.

The word comes from the body. When you speak, breath reunites thought with flesh. And with that comes a whole new awareness of what might be true. Or not.

Or not.

– Lola Moi –

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yes, you…

Dear Gentle Sir,

Just sitting here, still wet from the rain (so wet), I feel you in me; I feel me fucking your cock with my dirty mouth – you are so thick, so delicious. I lick my lips and savour the taste of fucking. I feel the thrum of my own heat as I spread for your sweet meat – both my mouth and my long legs spread wide.

I know you have heard this time and time again but you are so… mmm… your flavours all so unbelievably tasty. Can you feel my desire wrapping ’round your throbbing shaft, drifting all the way down to your round, full man-balls? You fill me to my brim, it’s so good; I can’t wait to feel your cum drip down, soaking me from the inside out. Especially when you lose your hands in my hair and tell me to look at you: I look at you with my big brown eyes, your cock spreads my lush lips, and fuels my hunger. (And, oh fuck, I am so hungry!) My cock-sucking, cock-loving bod slurps you in and out like the sweet treat you are.

My tongue bathes the thick blue vein that leads down to your soft, sensitive sac and then all the way up and ’round your perfect cock.  And you are lovely in taste, touch and smell. Over and over I verb the noun right out of you as you let me gently slip my tongue farther, farther and even farther back as I trace along the furry trail between your ass cheeks – your ass that makes me smile with anticipation.

Gently, firmly – slowly – you invite me in. Dripping with lube and lust, you finally accept how dirty you want to be, and I give you a taste of how dirty I can be. I dip and with my finger stretched deep inside, you discover how truly incredible it can be to cum… and I am there smiling all the way to your salacious end.

You. You are sweet and sexy and smart and wholly flawed and I adore you enough to say so. I can’t resist you. I can’t help but want you.

Yes, you.

Lola Moi xo

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the great advantage of being alive…

(instead of undying) is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
—the great(my darling)happens to be
that love are in we,that love are in we

and here is a secret they never will share
for whom create is less than have
or one times one than when times where—
that we are in love,that we are in love:
with us they’ve nothing times nothing to do
(for love are in we am in i are in you)

this world (as timorous itsters all
to call their cowardice quite agree)
shall never discover our touch and feel
—for love are in we are in love are in we;
for you are and i am and we are(above
and under all possible worlds)in love

a billion brains may coax undeath
from fancied fact and spaceful time—
no heart can leap,no soul can breathe
but by the sizeless truth of a dream
whose sleep is the sky and the earth and the sea.
For love are in you am in i are in we

– e. e. cummings –