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you are this glow of pleasure on my face…

Slide your tongue here, where I am softest.
Kiss me like you mean it.
Pin my arms above my head, nibble my neck
As you slide your thick need between my sweet, wet folds.
Hold my legs over my head and suckle me from ass to clit.
Don’t stop; I want you to make me moan.

Pull your cock out, free yourself, and give into my admiration.
Let me tongue you in those places you barely touch,
Have rarely given over to another.
Feel my hands on you; holding, pulling, caressing with my care.
Forgive my urgency, my need, my wet.
Believe every time I’ve ever adored you; there is no other story.

It may be the full moon calling us.
It may be the waves echoing memory.
After all, the moontide reminds us that past is always present.

There is no mystery or charm to the Why.
It may be the simple fact that you never left.
It may be the deepest truth that I am here because you are here
And you are you,
And you are enough.
We are worthy of our desire, of this union,
And of this heat that builds into fire.

In this, we are well-met.
Mirrors to the other in surprising ways.
It is not enough to be flesh; we are more
In this meeting of mind, body, and soul.
This, we know.

— Lola Moi —

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this wind may blow the sun in…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is the feeling when your cock falls into the back of my throat… when it pushes its way to the very most brink of my breath.

There is the feeling as the tears well up in my eyes… when you look back at me – no, into me – and we smile.

There is the feeling of pussy petals sighing, singing, spreading to make room for you… when my hard nipples make a different kind of mark than my scratches on your back and my heated bites on your shoulder.

There is the feeling of being held under sunsets that smell like summer fires… when you kiss my forehead and in braille, your lips write “I love you.”

Sweetly Yours,

Lola Moi xo

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caçadores de tempestades…

I undress you
because I want to
and in this simple action of removal
you are seen.
Like a whirling dervish
my tongue weaves magic.
Your breath the wind
bending tree boughs to its will.

A curtain parts
The space inside blooms.

Out here in the real world
people suffer a kind of emptiness they do not understand.
That echo they hear
whenever they speak?
they hear as car horns
or train tracks clicking past nowhere on the horizon.
There is no velvet to touch
No silk to grip, to sing into.

My lips part to say your name
The storm approaches.

– Lola Moi –

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a hope carol…

A night was near, a day was near,
Between a day and night
I heard sweet voices calling clear,
Calling me:
I heard a whirr of wing on wing,
But could not see the sight;
I long to see my birds that sing,
I long to see.
Below the stars, beyond the moon,
Between the night and day
I heard a rising falling tune
Calling me:
I long to see the pipes and strings
Whereon such minstrels play;
I long to see each face that sings,
I long to see.
Today or may be not today,
Tonight or not tonight,
All voices that command or pray
Calling me,
Shall kindle in my soul such fire
And in my eyes such light
That I shall see that heart’s desire
I long to see.
L

– Christina Georgina Rossetti

a hope carol

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and bay the moon…

All night I hear
so many echoes in the forest I’m tempted
to look back, to save myself in hindsight,
where all I see is the absence of me.
Where all I hear is your voice…

— Chard deNiord —

the stars burnHow should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

— W.H. Auden —

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worth suffering for…

If she’s amazing she won’t be easy. If she’s easy she won’t be amazing. If she’s worth it you won’t give up. If you give up you’re not worthy. Truth is everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for.

– Bob Marley –

worth suffering for

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parable of tomorrow…

Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart,
bleeding within me,
called you tender names.

It was love lashed by its own self that spoke. It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust. It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop,
while my own love,
kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.

– Kahlil Gibran –

parable of tomorrow

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the great advantage of being alive…

(instead of undying) is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
—the great(my darling)happens to be
that love are in we,that love are in we

and here is a secret they never will share
for whom create is less than have
or one times one than when times where—
that we are in love,that we are in love:
with us they’ve nothing times nothing to do
(for love are in we am in i are in you)

this world (as timorous itsters all
to call their cowardice quite agree)
shall never discover our touch and feel
—for love are in we are in love are in we;
for you are and i am and we are(above
and under all possible worlds)in love

a billion brains may coax undeath
from fancied fact and spaceful time—
no heart can leap,no soul can breathe
but by the sizeless truth of a dream
whose sleep is the sky and the earth and the sea.
For love are in you am in i are in we

– e. e. cummings –