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not to dare is to lose one’s self.— Kierkegaard —
we are the story…
It’s the possibility
of having a
dream come true
that makes life
interesting.— Paulo Coelho —
happy birthday to me…
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Without a song or a dance
what are we?
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 —
not our darkness that most frightens…
You sit in the light for me because I ask you to. You wait. You stroke my leg with a secret smile, and let me drink you in. I lose myself in my looking, in all your shadowed man-grooves. I lose my breath in your stillness. This pause we take is a lesson I don’t want to forget. I close my eyes; I want to imprint you deeper. When I open them, there you are – still waiting – wanting to be seen.
We are learning to be with one another, here, in this light that softens the heated edge of an afternoon delight. You lean back and even from this distance, I can taste your skin. Even as my supple clit thickens and my lips whet, you wait for me to be done with you. And in such thots, we stumble. Headlong, we stumble past one another in the crowded halls of Time. A cycle well-worn.
What songs are sung for a soul who seeks?
Who dances when the moon’s teat drips with longing?
There is nothing poetic about falling in love; it is starkest reality and basest need exposed. Utterly, it spends us even as we bleed. To love is to choose to be raw. Open.
Here with you, I walk blindly into an ancient light that conceals nothing, a light that wholly reveals from the inside. And suddenly, it is me sitting in front of another, being seen. We have shape-shifted into all our Unexpecteds. What there is, though, is light; a light that changes everything.
Look up, my soul whispers.
Here I am, my sweet.
Look up into Love.
Walk into the light.
I see you.
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
fun…
i watch you without blinking…
Coiled inside the heat of my heart
quivers a velvety shadow of desire
I peel back time
I fold the edges of now
I uncrease the frown of hurried tomorrows
All to see you
Neither of us flinch.
– Lola Moi –
the other is for goodness…
Dear Gentle Sir,
There are worlds between us.
When your full head peers into the abyss of my need, my petals spread like wings. I am Pegasus to your Zeus. (Though, who is muse to whom remains a bone of contention – one I’m content to nibble on.) To see you astride me is to believe in quantum physics: how else could we be here? Together. Entwined and wide-eyed like this?
As I arch to make room for you inside me, each intake of air births a belief… in the Impossible and in the Possible. Each moan may sound our names but it’s true nature is a blessing… Given and Taken.
When two become one in the Mystery of Meeting, we become feathers bound by blessed winds flying over mountains of pleasure and valleys of discontent. Each strain, each grip, every time we reach for the other sings us into a new moment. We become this. Together.
And still, you are so beautiful.
Missing You,
Lola Moi xo
walk this way…
Some say that a woman is for sleeping with
Long winter nights…
Long winter nights…
Some say that a woman is for play-like
Like a sexy dancer on a green harvest ground
To make her dance with nine-castanets…
Some say she is my spouse…
Some say she is the spiritual debt
That I carry around my neck
Some say; she’s the one who leavens my bread,
Some say; she’s one who gives my children birth…She’s neither this nor that, not a sexy dancer, not a spouse, not a debt, none of that!
She is my arms and my legs and my head..
My mother, my wife, my sister, my lover-confidant
She is My Lifelong Bosom Friend…
-Nazım Hikmet –