L
the sun touches our very skin.
we are everything in between…
Your hands are wonderful, especially when their holding brings forth such
honeysuckle… sucking… goodness.
That I might be muse for such outpourings baffles me.
The certainty that I might be something more than less still eludes me
like insights newly born and swaddled in words still half-formed.
That you might allow me as witness to speak on our behalf, here
illuminates my shortcomings
as scribe to all that is profound and simple.
(There, I see it: your back swathed in silence.)
We are never more than what the other decides
and yet, we remain always as whispers,
as Pleasure that cannot keep a secret for long
and so, we are compelled.
In this mystery, I see you.
In this, we are met.
And so, are we lost.
awaiting a glimmer of faded fall light…
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 —
all we need…
don’t want to stand in line…
So sweet and delicious do I become, when I am in bed with a man who,
I sense, loves and enjoys me,
that that pleasure I bring excels all delight,
so that knot of love, however tight it seemed before,
is tied tighter still.
— Veronica Franco —
careful what you wish for…
If you find a woman
with a wild heart
do not try to tame her.
You must adore her
recklessly, the way
she is meant to be loved.
Do not try to quiet her,
for her roars will reach
far and wide.
She has something
important to say.
Help her say it.
Do not get in her way.
She stops for no one.
Do not try to change
the path she has chosen.
Learn also to love the wind
and let it change you.
— C.B. Wild-Hearted Woman —
the last time i was here, so were you…
On my back, my pussy gushes with each plunge my fingers make. I work my clit for you; each gasp a testament to the depths of our mutual appreciation. My body dances to the rhythm of your breath. The look in your eyes mirror mine: we each are overwhelmed in this gift of meeting and pleasing, and in this heat of fueling the other’s secret desires. I am here with you; there’s no place I’d rather be.
I do this for you. You know this because you see it in me.
The echo of your moans thrill me – inspire me. I am so deep inside for you. How I love the way my sounds make you clench and squirm. Your face flushes as you restrain yourself, as you lick your lips and try to catch your breath… to steady yourself. You tell yourself you don’t need me like this. Inside, a chant: this will be another day without her, without seeing her, hearing her, smelling her like this. You believe you are immune to the force of our attraction. And in so many ways you are… just not today.
Just watching me makes you want to cum.
I whip myself closer to frenzy, my cunt overflows with joy to be so close – so spread – for you. “Fuck,” you whisper… mesmerized. You pull your cock out, and I slick it with my juiced-up hand. Your moan is lost in our kiss. As you begin the delicate work of coaxing honey-sweet precum out of your beautiful hard, my breath leaves me. Fuck… fuckfuckfuck. My sweet lover, just looking at you and my cunt thrums and throbs with desire.
For you.
My big brown eyes see you the way you can’t yet see yourself: unquenchable. Wholly desirable. We smile at one another and I realize I like you this way – lost in the “yes” of us, in the silky promise of my slicked-up inner thighs. What madness makes me want to dance like this for you and never stop? My back arches again and again. Our shared pleasure is the stuff dreams are made of.
Time is lost.
And soon, we find ourselves at a new beginning. Here, together, a man and a woman begin to glimpse The Impossible. As we receive from the other in ways that we feel wholly undeserving of, we begin to find ourselves new. With each panted breath, we mirror our own fragility. Our intimate release fans more than passion, we decimate the ancients of doubt, shame, and fear.
The dark is around us now but you are light.
You are brave enough to look into my eyes as my body shakes. You are promise. You are the repeated thot, the secret memory waiting impatiently years from now. But right now, together, we are the juiciest cum. Moan for me tonite and you will see.
the cry of my body…
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.