we are casual in our arrival…

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To the uninformed, we are two people, neutral in our delight, calm in one another’s company. No one could guess that deep in the night (during the hours that bewitch the morning), you lick your finger and feel the texture of my juice. Still. Unlike your tongue, no one knows quite how my clit swells. Unlike your eyes, no one has seen me bend and beg and coo and ride us both to freedom. Few could paint with words the way you draw me deeper into these noises I make – like velvet grinding into steel. It is impossible for anyone to know the ease with which we sit together over a meal or a drink – every syllable our eager fuck, our sweet love-making in every swallow.

fever pitch…

You place me at the perfect height: our eyes peer directly into the other’s. your hips gently push my legs apart as you move in to kiss me.  And like today’s welcome rain, the tenderness of your lips refreshes me like each drop of cleansing, wet air. We pause to simply drink one another in. Your gaze incites release. I feel my heart sob with joy.

I trace your sweet face and with each adoring sweep, I hold you so that I might give you the gift that lesser men have quailed from: I see you with open eyes. I accept your imperfect, scared smallest self. I smile, willing a courage I barely recognize myself. My fingertips imprint light into every crack they find. I trust, and in this, I offer you the best of myself.

You can feel pressure inside your chest building; it builds inside the history of your borders and boundaries, inside what others have forbidden and allowed, inside the dam that barely holds your fear at bay. You feel lost inside all this… space. Permission. You look down, away from me.

“It… feels… too much,” you say.
“To be found?” I ask.

Startled, you meet my eyes. And suddenly kiss me again. This time, on my temples, my brow, my high cheekbones, my sweet dimples, and full lips. Your hands hold me as your body urgently speaks words you’re not yet brave enough to say.

Your fingers deftly – tenderly – slide from my knee, up my velvety inner thigh and lighty… so so lightly, your fingers move up and down, inching closer to the wet that swells my pussy.  Reaching the velvety corner deep between my legs, between my thighs and mound, you look at me again, intent. You watch my expression as your fingers slowly so slowly flip and dance, back and forth – this time moving closer to my swollen, pulsing lips.

The fever has pitched. My petal-soft folds moan their pleasure through my throat. It comes out a gasping breath, a call and response led by my voice saying your name. My panties now to the side, I lean back with my long legs spread and I hook my calves and feet around you.

This time our shared gaze smolders. This time, when you put your fingers in my mouth, one-by-one, your jaw drops a little with anticipation. My looking at you is unadorned.  I want you inside me so fucking much. I am hunger and need and promise personified. I am yours. We are your bidding…

the encounter…

(enchanted by this strange proximity)

Longing, and mystery, and delight…
as if from the swaying blackness
of some slow-motion masquerade
onto the dim bridge you came.

And night flowed, and silent there floated
into its satin streams
that black mask’s wolf-like profile
and those tender lips of yours.

And under the chestnuts, along the canal
you passed, luring me askance.
What did my heart discern in you,
how did you move me so?

In your momentary tenderness,
or in the changing contour of your shoulders,
did I experience a dim sketch
of other — irrevocable — encounters?

Perhaps romantic pity
led you to understand
what had set trembling that arrow
now piercing through my verse?

I know nothing. Strangely
the verse vibrates, and in it, an arrow…
Perhaps you, still nameless, were
the genuine, the awaited one?

But sorrow not yet quite cried out
perturbed our starry hour.
Into the night returned the double fissure
of your eyes, eyes not yet illumed.

For long? For ever? Far off
I wander, and strain to hear
the movement of the stars above our encounter
and what if you are to be my fate…

Longing, and mystery, and delight,
and like a distant supplication…
My heart must travel on.
But if you are to be my fate…

— Vladimir Nabokov —
translated by Olga Voronina

a light in the dark…

“No one’s life should be rooted in fear.
We are born for wonder, for joy, for hope, for love,
to marvel at the mystery of existence,
to be ravished by the beauty of the world,
to seek truth and meaning, to acquire wisdom,
and by our treatment of others to brighten the corner where we are.”

— Dean Koontz —