One

You find solace and dwelling in people who
Smooth Grandma's antique tablecloth
Over your ever-accumulating trunk of transgressions.

That trunk that rides on your beautiful back.

The sun makes its lock gleam in your eyes every morning.
That's when you cry, and I'm not guessing because
That's what you told me,
Assuming not every intimate word out of your mouth is a lie.

Your vagrancy is short,
For her homely face and finite mind
Suit your need to assert authority and
Satisfy your narcissism.
Neither her love, her mind, nor her beauty
Can threaten your preference for
Cheap and easy.

So your innate and unmatched charm
Sweep her.
You hurl the hefty trunk to its new home on her floor.
You collapse into her bed and
Lose your head.

New fades into routine.
Your only possession eventually to blurs into the wall.
Occasionally, she lifts the lace that conceals your pain
- The pain given and taken -
And adds to your collection.
Even more rare, you stir in your bed
With some menacing feeling you can't seem to shake.

Once you spoke, "How do you tell if you're happy?"

April 17, 2013

You make everything behind you disappear. - Anthony

babygirl

Sometimes he does something that hurts and i say, "Ow! Babe!" He coos like velvet, "It's supposed to hurt a little, Momma." Always enamored with his kink and assertiveness. There's also a strong sense of nurturing; if something goes awry, he's fast as lightning to pick me up, coddle, console. Doesn't miss a beat. Never lets me feel lost or unsure because he's leading and he knows i look to him to feel safe.

head

he holds my face and hair obviously, but he hooks his thumb in my mouth over my bottom teeth and moves me slowly. pushes and pulls. in. out. around. lets my saliva fall to my lips and face. he fucks my mouth for minute, shallow so it doesn't go too far for my comfort. he still holds my head while he moves. he slows down and bears deeper a few times. then he lets go. let's me do what i like. he takes hold of me, brings me up to his face, kisses me. asks me if i want more or if i want him inside me.

January 2012

"Let's do that thing only you and me do together." - Anthony

this love is fucking right

The image of you whips my memory back to moments of heavy breathing and full hearts where no one occupies the planet, save you and I. Moments when lips foreheads hands meet. Clothes rustle between us and over us because this closeness isn’t enough - or it is fleeting, or the time apart has been too long. Or just that it’s the sole entity that feels real and right in the world. Is this different? It feels different. Images of you, memories of you, orgasms to you, your words, your laugh, your cadence, your tone. They all make me a schoolgirl walking away from her books at the end of term. They all make me hopeful, giddy, nurturing, seductive, loyal, devoted.

...

Everytime I hear your name I know you're the one.