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.blessing
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 –

stumbling is not falling…

reach deep
through the muck of time
sing
proclaim the past your friend
the present your lover
eat what is to come until you are full
change the lightbulb
not for what your next step might be
but for the room you have just entered
see the marvel that is space-to-be-filled

space to be filled

fuck…

Dear Gentle Sir,

When you fuck me, don’t say we’re making love.

Just ride me. Let me ride you, my dark mane gone wild. Slip your need deep into the velvet caress of my throat. Mould my tits to your strong hands. Squeeze. Ply me open with your tongue. Sweat with me. Thrash your head side to side, try not to grip the pillows. Try not to get lost. Try not to want more. Try, with each groaning gasp to tell yourself this fuck is not who you are. Let all those fingers slip inside and pound my tender cum-spot. Make me ripe. This wet splashing over eyes closed, arched spines, clenched toes. A cock alive, dancing for more. Pumping. Pounding. Pulsating. All into me. Turning us each inside outside the other.

This is not love. This is more. And nothing like before.

Fuck,

Lola Moi xo

a harbour like st. ives…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is this:

The morning dew.
My velvet petals.

My body coos for you as it often does in the morning… in case you’ve forgotten. In case you wanted to be reminded. And now, as I slide my hands down the length of my torso, my warm, waking body stirs to what I imagine are your hands. Like mist on mornings, I wake to wanting you and your ways on me. But there is more. And more I cannot say.

I think of Keats:

For you to trust me and me to trust you,
you have to accept me and I have to accept you
the way I am and the way you are,
fully seen and deeply known,
with no need of apology –
with my body imperfections and with yours,
with my character shortcomings and yours, too…
for you are a sacred gift to me
and I am a sacred gift to you,
and gifts are to be gratefully accepted
and heartily enjoyed,
but only if you trust me and I trust you,
can we let ourselves be ourselves
and forget real or unreal barriers,
conventions or inhibitions,
as to profoundly enjoy
what we’ve been granted:
you – the gift of me,
me – the gift of you,
as deeply as our inner worlds
can take us in,
with trust
and joy.

… that, and I want to make you cum hard. Yes, that, there is that.

Softly Yours,

Lola Moi xo