song of myself…
I celebrate myself, and sing myself
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every belonging to me as good belongs to you…
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess
the origin of all poetry
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun,
(there are millions of suns left)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand,
nor look through the eyes of the dead,
nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.
— Walt Whitman —
lessons learned the hard way…
The only one you need in your life
is that person who shows you he needs you in his.
— Oscar Wilde —
notes to self…
this freedom inside…
We should choose someone
because they make us come alive
with passion and feel empowered.
— Laura Brown —
tiny acts of grace…
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
crime for a crime…
