But I have no idea
what my voice does to you…
what your voice feels like…
crumbs along the path…
‘I don’t believe in magic,’
The young boy said.
The old man smiled,
‘You will, when you see her.’
— Atticus —
when dreams feel like real life…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Must I remind you?
When you hold me, firmly, losing yourself inside the flavours I am.
Your voice, especially when pleasure overtakes you.
Your hands gently, almost secretly, caressing mine.
The growing bob of your eager cock, and the way you watch me enjoying you.
The shiver you make when my tongue and lips read between the lines.
The surprise on your face when I blush from your masculine beauty.
The moan I am when I am with you.
The fucking moan I cannot keep inside.
Achingly Yours,
Lola xo
you promised you wouldn’t…
… but you did.
like shooting stars…
we’ll need hours…
love sonnet xi…
L
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
— Pablo Neruda —
the loveliest garden you ever saw…
sometimes much nearer…
Sometimes, it’s so simple: I just want you to fuck me.
(And now would be a good time to start.)
things i forgot to say…
