L
L
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
— W.B. Yeats —
let my cry cum…
She stared.
Such beauty; and she there to see it.
Such beauty; and she alive to feel it.
— E.Von Arnim —
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