There is a little knot I need untied.
when lips are silent…
the heart has a hundred tongues.
— Rumi —
april has the cruelest mouth…
On my knees, I unzipped you. Do you remember? I ask because it’s easy to forget how you make me feel.
How, when I see your beautiful hard and smell your musky need, my lips part – like the wettest sea.
How, when you look at me (the way you do), I quiver. How, looking down and seeing you between my legs, makes me reach and moan utterly and wholly breathless.
How, when I touch you, and hold you, and (if I’m lucky enough to) taste you, my skin feels electric and my brain short circuits.
It’s easy to forget how my clit loves the grip and suckle of your tongue – the confidence of your curious mouth. How, when your breath catches and your moans escape and your grip tightens, all that’s running through my mind is:
Yes. Please. Fuck, give me more.
To be with you is to want to cum hard, to writhe and buck against your strong body. To fuck like love. Do you remember how? I’m on my knees now, let me show you again.
(not so) easy to forget…
Dear Gentle Sir,
The first time I saw you naked, I wanted to climb you with a compulsion monkeys must have when they see a tall, glorious tree. I wanted to taste you in mango-sweet ways as one must suck and lick and test and devour divine succulence.
The first time I touched your barest of skin, I gasped.
I hope you always remember this fact.
The first time I saw you naked, I was already wet; every fold between my legs had been begging me to spread – they wanted you to hear how lovely your name sounds springing forth from inside me. I was already saying “yes” to every dream you had.
The first time you touched me, I lost my breath.
I hope you never forget this fact.
Yours from the Beginning,
Lola Moi xo
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
somewhere behind the morning…
Dear Gentle Sir,
If ever I have felt your mouth on me, it is because your tongue is a wand and my moans, my squirms, my arching spine, and spreading legs are the magic we make.
If I have ever felt your hands wrapped around me, it is because I am waiting for you to trace my curves and folds and slippery creases. It is because I want to feel your hands to spread me and juice me, as your fingers wander and whip me into the frenzy of delight I can be. I ache to feel your strong hands grip me with need and unstoppable desire.
If ever I have felt your cock slipping, inching, sliding, pounding, dancing, and filling me it is because you are beautiful and I am the mirror I want you to see. There you are – sexy, sweet, strong, and wondrous in your passion… even in your doubt, you are powerful.
Why else would I offer myself? Why else would I splay myself for you and your pleasure. Why else would I hold you in my arms and kiss you sweet? Why else would I try and try and try… until I have no words. Was it not you who titillated my mind and made my body tremble and arch and ache and drip and throb with impossible heat?
If ever you think of me, remember the gift you are. You still fill me like no other.
Squirmingly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
the way we live now (or, in search of lost time)…
Tonight, the moon is sombre though you wouldn’t know it;
it nestles its backside into the sky’s lap, each buck-and-grind a falling star.
Nights like this make one ache in mysterious ways.
A man once fingered me in a dark parking lot. His fingers were long and clever. He growled his pleasure in my ear and bit my lip. When he made me cum, my head fell back with air clusters catching in my throat. His kisses were coos. Tears streamed down my face; he said they tasted sweet, like stardust.
Constellations were the First Stories; we are all descended from such brilliance. We are the dreams of ancestors come true. When we look into another’s eyes, we give up the secret of what we most need – the Darkness holds it until the wind takes it up… and away, back to its first breath.
We are the ache of life’s mysterious ways.
The moon is restless as you lick my skin with the tip of your cock.
Tonight, the darkness holds us.
We are not alone.
– Lola Moi –
something opens our wings…
we are each other…
On our knees
our bodies buck…
And the moon
hears our pleas.
L
L
L
L
dive for dreams…
dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.
– e.e. cummings –
