A soft kiss placed in the right spot while wrapped gently but firmly in your arms… it is the gateway to all my pleasures. Your gentle touch is the inspiration of my depths. To be treated as precious inside your passion is the bloom of my ache. The everyday of our connection is more; it becomes the wild secrets that explode between us in the middle of the night—that keep us up into the wee hours when we are apart. Never underestimate what moves me to say “yes” to even the unspoken wishes you hoard; it is you and always will be.
the rain is like you…
I don’t know: this gravity elastic feeling to let go and fall together with you is one thing, but it is better to live exactly where you are with as many permanent emotions in you as you can muster.
Talking to myself.Your spirit is with me.
Please kiss whatever part of you can reach for me.
— John Cage —
broken record…
Fuck, I need you here.
manifesto…
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
— Wendell Berry —
who can no longer pause…
Dear Gentle Sir,
“Dime a dozen” doesn’t apply to you. Not when you change my sphere of influence. Not when you alter the way I understand “then” and “now” all while I am standing “here.”
No, you are the game changer. The one whose moans whispered through the line straight to my heart. You are the world-maker. The one who shifted the sky into earth and back again all with a simple smile and sigh.
You woke me up and I haven’t slept since.
What a terrible injustice it is to be the luckiest of the unlucky.
(But more terrible to not know it.)
Nothing applies to you that makes any sense. We haven’t evolved enough to know what this is, what time we are in between, us. Each forgetting is a remembering. We are the smooth, wet edges of the promises you never made.
Take my hand, let’s walk. There is no secret shame, no grave to dance upon. When you look for me, you see because you have given me the better version of myself; that is who I meet in the courage of your trembling arms.
This isn’t a happily-ever-after. It isn’t a fairy tale, a morality tale for the ages. This happening is the story of Becoming but how does one celebrate waiting? Beloved, we are the familiar, the failure no one likes to speak of—the rousing branch that endures its yearly bloom.
Lola xo
look me in the eye…
… when you cum.
yes or yes…
Sometimes you can’t explain what you see in a person.
It’s just the way they take you to a place no one else can.
— Unknown —
by muteness as by a scream…
