Wet

hot wet water puddles on hot wet skin
the puddles grow and streak drawn by gravity across wet smooth light it beads on breasts and flows further to paradise to linger in wet folds of halcyon purity
I fucking love the picture above (and the one below too for that matter)...they do something to me.

The Idea Of You

It's a fairly complicated slice of heaven
Where I am yours and you are mine
Yet we have never met.
Deeply, I am enthralled by you
And amazingly, I'm not afraid.
This isn't some teenage love affair
Where both parties only want the thrills of flesh against flesh.
I want your sweet eyes to look at me with the light of adoration
and I want to see the darkness of lust burst within them.
I want to know your smile
and I want to feel your tears.
I am in love with your wit.
I am in love with your mind.
I wish I could hear you breathe.
I wish I could hear your laugh.
I am so damn in love with you
and yet we've never touched.
How can this be?
I swear I've felt you, in a raindrop on my skin
I swear I've closed my eyes and heard you
Whisper my name on a breeze
Someone once told you that you wrote suffering
in a warm manner.
Like you knew it so well that you could communicate it in better strands of words than anyone twice your age.
Your mouth is made to wind words into luxurious sentences that express your every thought, your every ideal.
And I picture it, often, against mine.
Soft, voluptuous, delicious.
I am...
so damn in love...with the idea
of YOU.

A New Perspective

On her knees, she gains a new perspective
On her knees, she achieves a sense of herself
On her knees, eyes gazed upward
On her knees, where she chooses to be

Standing straight, she feels my presence
Standing tall, my shadow shields
Standing silent, she hears my heartbeat
Standing still, she begins to yield

Its my wishes, that are her purpose
It is my commands she obeys
It is my voice that drowns the world out
It is here that she will stay

Two pieces of a puzzle
Incomplete without the fit
She feels she is nothing when she is without me
But has it all when she submits

Tender Trap

Your taste rolls upon my tongue. It lingers, faintly exotic...teasing, imploring me to trail the same path across your skin again. Sated, we lie in each other's arms, your hair a curtain spread across the two of us. My finger tugs gently at a wayward lock that curls against my cheek.

Your finger upon my lips tells me words are not needed right now. As if I could not read that message in your eyes for myself. Can I help it if I am completely distracted by that too full mouth of yours and long for it to burst like ripe fruit against my tongue? Bruise it a soft shade of crimson with my own? Ahhhh...but haven't I done that a hundred times already this evening? Each kiss eliciting the tiniest shock deep within you as my teeth delicately run the length of your throat.

The smallest details fascinate me - the way your smile starts out slowly, playing hide and seek upon your lips like a child until it blooms fully...the way you idly run your fingers down your arm and pull gently at your lower lip with your teeth when you are lost in thought. That slight hesitation that furrows your brow and the way the tip of your tongue catches between your teeth when you speak. I love to watch the subtle parade of moods shift across your face, all caught in the fraction of a second. I have learned to anticipate each nuance of shadow and light that illuminates it.

And each night with you brings some small, new treasure. I love that tiny pulse that beats savagely under the pale skin of your throat, the heat that my hands draw off you as they pass over your skin; the gasp that stops your breath when I touch you; the press of your leg as it catches between my own

The coolness of the night moves over us and I can feel the slight shiver creep across your flesh. Drawing me down to hover over you, I sense anticipation brush between us like a whisper as my hands take yours captive with my own. Love is a tender trap...and your capture this evening sweet beyond your knowing...

Portrait Of My Mind

If I could paint a portrait of my mind
A masterpiece to show the world my thought
Displaying every path I've walked entwined
With every dream that I have ever sought

Would paint drip then to show the path of tears
Then pool to represent unfailing faith
And darker shades to hide my secret fears
Yet gold to show as courage underneath

A finger dipped in gray to represent
The shades that lie between my reasons why
And drops of red to bleed for loves now spent
The deeper hues for those that made me cry


If I could paint a portrait of my mind
Would such a picture represent me well
The pieces that are me in paint defined
For words alone are not enough to tell

An Odd Fetish

I think I might have a crying fetish. Weird huh? Not that I like seeing people hurt, not at all...I believe the show of emotion may be it, then again it could be the physical aspects. It is so truthful, and so intimate, and so beautifully natural.

Society stops us from crying at times when ordinarily we might like to. We are taught not to cry at happy times, emotional times, and sad times.

Sometimes when there is the risk that the person could cry, but they aren't really crying and are still somewhat able to keep their composure (with slightly moist eyes, maybe wavering voice, heavy sighs)... it's the teetering on the EDGE that gives me the shivers! And when I sense that they are so close to the edge that there is a risk they might go over it, the reaction I feel inside goes something like this:

"Uh-ohh... omigod, no...DON'T cry...NOOOO...it's OK, it's OK..." and as I'm thinking that, I feel this sharp pain in my heart...literally, my heart aches for them!! And yet that experience of pain also brings me a jolt of something else at the same time...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t really like it when she cried.

I just loved the way it made her look.

Her eyes were always vibrant.
But, God—God, when she cried…they sparkled.
Her cheeks would turn that perfect plum, that dangerous shade of blue-crimson.
She would push her hair out of her face: in futility.
It would fall back, frazzled, crazed.
Beautiful.

I would watch her, in her less-than-silent agony,
My eyes: absorbed, ablaze. Like a hawk.
Like a vulture.

She was so real.

So vulnerable, delicate in her fragility
Passionate, with her lips pushed lightly forward.
Almost in a kiss…

Part of me wanted to be that gleam at the tip of her eyelash.
A bigger part of me wanted to be the one to push the gleam, the tear, away.

But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t be the one who loved her.
I couldn’t love her and be the one that made her cry.

It wasn’t that I wanted to make her cry…
Really, it wasn’t.

But, to me...

She was beautiful when she cried.

The Power Of The Pen

The pen waits patiently
ready to caress between the lines
It teases open the notebook
waiting for the muse to respond
to the rhythm of the rambling pen
Dipping into her ink
inviting, urging, begging her to come
Penetrating the imagination
fantasies flowing onto paper
fantasies of us
of a love
passionate & sensual
heightened arousal
constant cravings
for the one that
shall be like
a euphoric drug
the inspiration
for all that is done
but also a sickness
a festering obsession
when thirst is left unquenched
as this love remains unknown
the drug is only enough
for thoughts penned to paper
making fantasy
a brief reality
for the heart & the mind
And moisture weeps between
my thighs
As words spill onto the page

Some Rules To Live By

1. Never stop thinking. This is important. If someone ever says to you ‘You need to stop thinking so much,’ call them ignorant in your head and keep thinking deeper. It is this mentality that breeds stupidity and sheeple. Your mind is the most important tool you have, if you stop using it, it will atrophy. Question everything.

2. Stare into space blankly and don’t mentally punish yourself for doing it, even if it is for that split second. If you have a problem with staring blankly, think of it as daydreaming.

3. Root Beer sucks after having spicy food.

4. Everything is going to be just fine. If you worry about acne, you’re going to get a fucking pimple.

5. Don’t be afraid to talk about anything. You shouldn’t be afraid of reality.

6. Everyone is a hypocrite.

7. You are all original. Every life experience is case sensitive and unique. Every time you wake up or go to the bathroom or quote someone else, you are becoming more you than anyone has ever been.

8. Do pointless things. Don’t actively restrain or hide yourself from the redundant.

9. Stop rushing. Shut up and embrace the sound of silence.

10. Religion shouldn’t be taught, it should be found. No one should tell you what to believe except you. And while were on the subject…

11. Don’t be restrained by one religion. People change every moment of everyday. Minds grow and evolve. Religion has no law so feel free to mix and match. Make your own.

12. Going to the bathroom is not a right nor a privilege. it’s an act of nature.

13. Talking to yourself is healthy. Is there anyone that you have more in common with?

14. There is no such thing as time. The sun never sets or rises. Days and years don’t exist. There is only your life. Earlier today you were born and death is predicted later in the evening.

15. We will always be in a transitional phase. Look outside and know that everything will be replaced at some point. This existence is temporary.

16. Its not half empty or half full. Its half a glass.

17. Every now and then take something that you see everyday and try to see it in a different light. Renew its existence.

18. Be happy, but don’t force it.

19. You will always succeed in trying.

20. We are all crazy. Every person you read about in the history books had some kind of ‘disorder’, they just knew how to use it.

21. We are all about as similar as we are different.

22. Ideas are just as valuable as people. Why do you think we keep making people?

87. Numbers don’t have to go in order.

24. Words will always be just words. Love is just another four letter word, only the feeling is real.

25. Ask a child for advice. They may not know much, but they know what is important.

26. Prove you’re alive. Do anything from dancing in the supermarket to screaming ‘Fuck’ during a moment of silence. Remind the world you are still here.

27. Don’t take anything, even this, too seriously.

Ties That Bind

What separates one certain face, one certain voice from all those encountered in several lifetimes and launches them to a special place in the heart? Is it a simple matter of features...the line of the throat, chin and cheeks...the arch of mouth...the angle of the eyes? That is perhaps the first step, the one that we call chemistry, that sets all that is to follow into motion. I have been drawn to many over the years - some for their incandescent beauty; some for the imperfections that find harmony in my soul; some for their simplicity; some for reasons I would be hard pressed to explain.

I can recall countless smiles cast in my direction - everything from the shy greeting of a girl in the first bloom of youth to the brash invitation of a jaded nymph to the tempting pout of a flouted and crossed lover. I close my eyes and count the many others that watched me surreptitiously or with brazen and wanton lust...that flirted...that accused...that begged for something beyond the ordinary from this all too fickle heart. And I have heard all the conversations spoken in the dark, in those discreet and intimate moments before dawn stretches its lethargy through my limbs and threatens to bury me in some beautiful stranger's arms. I have had countless secrets confessed to me,or plucked without permission when I was too impatient to wait. I have tasted an eternity of protestations of affection..or deep abiding love...and hung on the thread of their intentions with a need so acute it threatened to be my undoing. I have known the bitter beauty of disdain, rejection, loathing, fear, and found them all a single resounding note of my inadequacies and flaws.

There have been moments when the parade of "almosts" and "not quites" and near misses threatened to overwhelm me. Many have been my own fault. I am a demanding lover, no doubt about it. I operate from selfish motives more often than not...and my penchant for double standards is the stuff of legends. I am mercurial - quick silver that runs through your veins as a taste of ice one minute...a hot and quick slap to the senses the next. Sweet words flow from this tongue like warm summer honey...and I will wrap my victim so lovingly in them that the trap is never seen. I am the rebel dream in leather that slides through society like a wicked and delicious lie - the beautiful monster that drapes her black wings around a halo of steel and barbed wire. I had reached a point where my myths threatened to consume me...to become me, expertly performed for the audience that claimed my heart - and each of those faces craved nothing more...they all but demanded it.

My body count of lovers, of easy and willing flesh...or of those who played the dangerous game of refusal, tempting me beyond the breaking point is legion. The number of limbs that have wrapped around me...the flawless skin that has warmed my own...the sweet friction my tongue has lapped and savored...the swagger of hips that has pressed my own in the sharp cry of midnight when sin is bartered and stolen is the litany of one who has loved too well. I have felt the fearless heat of matrons searching for pleasure never tasted from husbands...and the timid innocence of maids begging to be torn and twisted into something ripe and feral. And yet each time after passion slowed and cooled our blood, something always seemed strangely out of kilter as if a small piece of the world had gone missing or I had been found wanting...lacking.

Your eyes were the first to raise a question to my own...your smile was a challenge...your voice one that brooked no games, only the truth in whatever form it might take. You wanted no disguises...you craved no masquerade...and you made it abundantly clear that impressing you was going to require more than parlor tricks and romantic sleight of hand. You had a way of cutting to the quick like a surgeon...and knowing at just what point to capitulate...and make me believe it was my idea. You demanded my best..and my unrehearsed worst...and settled for nothing less. You took my flaws with an open heart..bore their rude brunt and fine-tuned them into a voice I did not know I possessed. I brought you the complex and frustrating...you recreated serenity and simplicity. And you wove this tapestry of me...of us...with a passion that matched my own. The ties that bind are eternal...