our minor refusals…
A man looks deep into your eyes, practicing for the day he finally sees himself as fresh, so sweet. Your hair, your skin caught up in a man’s hands is the way he kneads Grace, Hope, and Faith into the marrow of his bones. His pre-cum glistens like the giving of his deepest heart; pristine. When your velvet, thrumming pussy clenches him tight, a man’s jaw tightens, and for that instance, he is undiminished – he is fearless.
— Lola Moi —
it’s in the translation…
My love, he asks for grace each time he reaches for me.
His words dance ’round the permission he craves.
His secrets are songs the land sings to the moon.
how you say it…
When you say my hands are magic
When you gasp for air and look at me wild-eyed
When you put your fingers in my mouth, still wet and sweet from me
When you lift me, flip me, and kiss me
When you wait for me to suck
When you settle back and watch me
Isn’t that your way of asking for more?
caçadores de tempestades…
I undress you
because I want to
and in this simple action of removal
you are seen.
Like a whirling dervish
my tongue weaves magic.
Your breath the wind
bending tree boughs to its will.
A curtain parts
The space inside blooms.
Out here in the real world
people suffer a kind of emptiness they do not understand.
That echo they hear
whenever they speak?
they hear as car horns
or train tracks clicking past nowhere on the horizon.
There is no velvet to touch
No silk to grip, to sing into.
My lips part to say your name
The storm approaches.
– Lola Moi –