get a grip…
in all that you do…
in all that you are.
it’s not a risk…
the light comes…
My story isn’t sweet and harmonious, like invented stories.
It tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream,
like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.— Hermann Hesse —
an unquiet one…
Being adored… and feeling it.
Being wanted… and seeing it.
(It is possible… here in this moment, now.)
Being desired… and knowing it.
This is the pleasure beyond lust.
This is the hope beyond what has passed.
This is the glow in my eyes when I look at you.
Yes, at you.
it’s been days…
My clit has been thick with longing for you. I walk to the store, panties soaked with how you please me. Driven to distraction – to my bed, seeking relief. Release. I say your name into the mattress. Can you hear me?
Somehow, days pass and time does not take its toll – what was, is still now, and we lie breathless in one another’s arms. I need to taste you again. I need to hear you moan. To say “yes” in your ear. To watch you cum… so very hard for me.
It’s when you look at me writhing under the force of your careful touch, your sweet caress, your plunging curiosity that I reach for you. You make me smile. Blush. I bite my lip – it’s that, or your shoulder. Our tongues trace each gasp of surprise. Where did you come from? My beautiful, sweet lover. Where did you go?
My body trembles still, knowing the way you watch me – so present in my pleasure, so intent on piquing my need. Your certainty parts my legs and your mouth so generously sucks, laps, strokes, and presses my thrumming, wet clit. The parting of my folds and spreading of my holes become our serenade. Your perfect cock, a beautiful rod of deeper truths.
To feel my hand in yours is to discover adoration. To look at you is to read words newly born. Yes. To give witness to your permission is to buck and arch and reach and spill over into soak. Our meeting is a universe of secrets stored in towers of honeycomb. Each breath, another chance.
— Lola Moi —
do you realize…
my parallel universe or yours…
sweet smells from a white sky…
blessings for the longest night…
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.
So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
– Jan Richardson –