oh, my juice…
I masturbate.
I think of you.
I cum.
… because there is this: your lips, your tongue, your fingers, your anything you want… tracing over these dips and waves of me. You trace me, leaving a trail. And I watch you. I fucking want you. My hands hold you – slip along your nape – and my fingers slide through your hair as you pass over me again. And again. My fingers grip your dewy tip, I cup the throat of your cock, choking it, gripping your heat; your shaft warms me. I know because I feel your heat mix with mine – slick, between my thighs and folds of my sweet cunt – it slides between my ass cheeks. I am like this for you. We will fuck soon. I want you to fill me as much as you want, as deep as you can, as hard and hungry as we must. I tug and spin my clever fingers around the head of your throbbing need and down, down, to your rock-hard base. Your balls fit perfectly in my hands. You are so beautiful.
I kiss you and bite your lip – my tongue, a foreshadow of what is to cum.
You moan and grow even more in my hands.
Oh, my juice… I am so wet. So fucking wet.
under a waterfall…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Those fingers between my lips – both of them – are yours. Here, against the shower wall, I spread my long legs (with my foot propped on the ledge, leaning against you). The split of my impossibly smooth thighs invite you to push deeper, to race along the velvet corridor of my cunt. My hips tilt, guiding your eager tips to my sweet g-spot. My jaw drops. My hands find the back of your neck as the water races down, over my smooth mound. I am spread again. For you.
Our eyes meet as my hand grips your wrist, holding you inside me. I push you farther in. I want you here. I want you finger-deep in me and I want to fuck like this. At least for now. At least until you slip out and rub my clit with a focus and intensity that drills me into my hungriest self.
Then back inside. Please. Come back inside. Fuck me hungry like this. For now. Again.
Your fingers make me bite my lip, make me arch my back, make me push into you so that your muscles strain to hold me upright, to fuck me straight. Your fingers plunge, they make me moan. Even reading this, you feel the vibration of my breathless cry in your bones… and our desire leaks out of you in dewy drops that crown the head of your glorious cock. My juice fills your palm, and down your forearm, bathing you in adoration.
I need you like this, plummeting my depths, stirring up this passion, this connection we’ve only dared dream. All this that falls out of me and over you – is a waterfall of grace, appreciation… intimacy. It is my soul. This trust that spreads me and fills me, that makes me buck against you – calling me to dig my nails into your shoulder, bite your chest, and moan from the most secret part of me – is my gift to you.
Yes, you.
I love your hands; a gentleman’s palm… always. You, my sweet lover’s caress. My secret hunger made gorgeous flesh in you. Go on, choose: choose two fingers and turn the hot water on.
I’m waiting,
Lola Moi xo
light of some kind…
release the hound(s)…
Those scissors, there.
Spread your palm, wide.
Slip your fingers through, all the way.
…
Cut. me. out. of. here.
what spring does…
I want to do with you what Spring does with cherry trees.
-Pablo Neruda –
it went like this…
I want you, your brain, your body
(yes)
to fuck me senseless, to leave me with whisker burn for days
to feel naked even with clothes on
for want of remembering the way you look at me
(moan)
i want you to kiss me everyfuckingwhere
and lick me
grab me and hold me
(yes, fuck)
i want you, your brain, your body
to make love, sweet and gentle and slow
to me, just me
to love and fuck
fuck and love
(it’s all i want)
until i am turned inside out from care
left beautiful for your caresses
left shining from deep adoration
(fuck, yes)
our lingering goosebumps
a living torture
wanting to give more
a testament to shared desire
this once-gift
(yes yes yes)
an irretrievable truth between lovers
– Lola Moi –
crash into me…
I’m bare boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
Into me, baby
And I come into you…
Oh I watch you there
Through the window
And I stare at you
You wear nothing but you
Wear it so well
Tied up and twisted
The way I’d like to be
For you, for me, come crash
Into me…
Oh sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock and sweet you roll…
I swear, friend, don’t you know
I’m bare boned and crazy for you
Oh when you come crash into me yeah…
Crash into me
Crash into me
Crash into me
Crash into me
Oh I wanna play with you
– Dave Matthews –
all’s well that ends well…
… and then we begin again.
we say…
This is what we say:
There is nothing special about the way you make me feel.
A thousand thoughts have done it before.
There is nothing unique about the way you touch me.
A million dreams have done the same.
At least
this is what we say.
This is what we say
when the clouds shield moon from stars
and her from him
or him from her.
This is what we say
and we’re not wrong
as long as we say we’re right.
And as long as we stay in the clouds
we stay blind.
No matter the thousands or millions before
or after
we stay and never move.
This is what we forget:
We forget what moved us was his smell
after a day in the world without you.
We forget what moved us was her smile
how her touch found you in the forgotten secrets of your skin.
We forget how contentment feels listening to her voice
and feeling his hand take yours.
We forget that we can ask.
We forget that we can Be.
We forget that we can confess.
We forget that we are one another’s need.
We forget
that we are unlike any other
yet wholly like the other
entirely ourselves.
Matched.
Lost and found
until we find our way again.
I want.
I need.
I desire.
Yes.
I accept.
At least
This is what we say.
– Lola Moi –
