if i reach out my hand…

i reach my hand outWhen you breathe on me, my body responds with your name. And I want you exactly where you are, the way you are. I want to spread myself so that you can peer deep into my need, and still sing my praises – even as my soul sings yours. I want your tongue to trace every tremor. Our fingers entwine because we meet in the middle, and the force of our meeting – this pushing, and grinding, and moaning into shoulders, necks, thighs, and more – is a blessing I have dreamt of but was afraid to ask for. Your eyes full on mine, now.

Come here.
Be with me.
My sweet lover, my friend.
Cum.

gone are the birds that were our summer guests…

looking legsThe crickets are raucous; wild for a reason, I guess.
The wind feels like… courage.
(Like that, only simpler.)
The fire pit smoulders; my hair smells of ash.
Tonite.
A season comes to pass framed by silky memories
and eventual, hopeful strains for some near-distant night.
You. Me. This.
We spread ourselves wide to the horizon that cradles our future –
the velvet expanse of our yet-to-be-known.
Awash in the restlessness of almost-goneness
I wish I had more time
grateful I can leave some of all that was behind.
A fruition of time that on this eve
blossoms and wilts.

Leaving is bittersweet.
It always is.
L

– Lola Moi –

before leaves fall…

Caresses, expressions of one sort or another,
are necessary to the life of the affections as leaves are to the life of a tree.
If they are wholly restrained, love will die at the roots.

– Nathaniel Hawthorne –

before leaves fall

love sonnet xliv…

You must know that I do not love and that I love you,
because everything alive has its two sides;
a word is one wing of silence,
fire has its cold half.

I love you in order to begin to love you,
to start infinity again
and never to stop loving you:
that’s why I do not love you yet.

I love you, and I do not love you, as if I held
keys in my hand: to a future of joy—
a wretched, muddled fate—

My love has two lives, in order to love you:
that’s why I love you when I do not love you,
and also why I love you when I do.

– Pablo Neruda –