The sky is full of stars.
Just looking at you ignites me.
dirty little secrets…
She is enough,
but the simple fact that she is real
scares you so damn much.
— Zahara Jade —
my tits are in love with your hands…
L
L
L
L
Fuck,
I need to fuck you.
I need to squeeze and slide you
into a mind-numbing hard.
The way our bodies fit
spins me ’round
right fuckin’ round.
rotting, mon amour…
to be dissolved…
Dear Gentle Sir,
I wonder what you would do if I were there now, with you? Would you want me? Would you trace the edge of each shiver you give me? Would you tease me with your hand or your tongue? How would you coax the first moan out of me… and then the third, the 17th, the 27th?
As I slip back into bed, I wonder these things. I wonder what it would take to make you hard? I slip out of my tank and lay on my tummy. I feel my breasts bulge against my weight, pressed hot atop my flannel sheets. I want you to see me. I want you to watch me lift my hips so I can slip out of my lace thong panties. I want you to finish the task when they get caught around my knees. Then, I want your gentle caress along my long legs so that I feel your firm desire. I want you to smell how wet you make me. I want you to lick your lips as you bend your knees, hold my hips, and spread me with your thumbs.
This pause we both take is its own kind of truth.
You underestimate the power you have, the lover you are. You hide such incredible fire inside; each spark of inspiration makes me moan and ache for you when you are gone. I am nothing special but with you, I become extraordinary. With me, you must explore… there are no limits. With me, you have a kind of permission that scares you; I know this, you know this. It frightens me, too, at times until I see you again – ablaze in all your glory – and I am reminded: holy fuck, are you ever beautiful.
Ah! And there it is: my first moan.
Not-So-Secretly Yours,
Lola xo
given the chance…
The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.
– Vladimir Nabokov –
send out the call…
and under gilded blue
sweet shadow of what might yet be
damp ambition
none escape its serenade
so wrap around and sing along
send out the call
and the answer will be
– Lola Moi –
gloire de dijon…
When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Glistening white on the shoulders,
While down her sides the mellow
Golden shadow glows as
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown yellow
Gloire de Dijon roses.
She drips herself with water, and her shoulders
Glisten as silver, they crumple up
Like wet and falling roses, and I listen
For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.
In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.
– D.H. Lawrence –
lace…
