Something Of The Past

Our words

Have sprawled so far

From the margin

Where we had weakened our speech

To fold into each other

To write a beginning,

That they have lost all sweetness

Of that time,

And the book

Now swallows us as something of the past.

No longer do we bend our words

Into a form,

But we let them immigrate

And leave behind a kissing memory

Of what we once corresponded

As love.

We are not a poem,

Ah, but a broken metaphor--

With a silent simile undoing

Every facade washed

In handsome meaning.

The truth can

Come again,

From our silence:

The growing distance between

Our unmoved voices,

That once sang

For the exploration of

This hollow page,

Beautiful before I got here

To write

What I knew nothing of.

I Think Of You

Every time I see you, I wonder why I can’t just be straight and not suffer like this. I wonder why I can't just blurt out all the things I want to do to you, ill controlled restraint binds my words temporarily, like lava bubbling quietly within the confines of a raging volcano until it's time to break violently beyond the surface, but my thoughts run rampant, unchecked.

I want to stand behind you and breathe you in as my hands roam delicately across the gentle rise of your stomach upward to cup your beautiful breasts, my touch firm enough to define my desire yet tender enough to clearly express my romantic fixation upon you. I want to feel you arch your back and press yourself into me as my hips strain forward with the sole intention of feeling you. I need to feel you. Every part of you.

I want to run my hands over your breasts and kiss each of your nipples, I want to know precisely how hard I must nibble to make you slide your fingers through my hair and tug me closer, or gently pull me back, a hint to lighten up . I want to know what your lipstick tastes like. I wonder what your hair smells like after you shower and how it would feel to run my fingers along your hot, wet pussy and just how and where to touch you to make you whimper. I want to know everything about you. Inside and out.

I want to see how beautiful you are when you're lost in a moment of passion. I want to suck your clit into my mouth and make you moan. I want to make you come so hard that you will never be able to think of pleasure without thinking of me, the way I think of you. I want to devour you.

But for now, I'll keep that to myself.

Conversation

I want your hands all over me, baby. I want my hands all over you, tracing the outline, the perfect architecture of your every curve. I want to cross that invisible barrier between us, that barrier that makes us believe in separateness. There is no seperation between us, feel the reality of our connectivity. I want to erase any lingering awkwardness, kiss away your tears, love away your fears-trust...in the purity of my intentions.

I want to wrap my arms around you and try to convey how much I love you through touch, touch establishes communication, and what is transmitted has more meaning than words. My tongue in the shell of your ear replaces words spoken, and your fingertips trace secrets on the tops of my sensitive thighs, us tangled, hopelessly, together in a human love-knot. I'm listening, love. Speak to me, now, without words. Your secrets are safe with me.

I want to plant kisses up and down your spine, dip my tongue delightfully into the dimples on either side, right at the base of your back, as your spine becomes concave, your ass raising hypnotically, an animalistic enticement that I simply can't ignore-nostrils flaring as the scent of sexual awakening hangs sweetly in the air, olor de amor. The scent of love.

When it's time for words, I want to hear you beg me to relieve your built up tension, your voice thin and desperate as your passion begins to flow--your desire summed up within a series of breathless gasps. Tell me. Tell me what you want, love, I'll give it to you- because to please you is my purpose. Please, allow me to elaborate with the silent thrust of a deeply searching tongue. Then I want to hear you moan my name. Will you do that for me? Moan it once, softly, then louder--sing to me baby, that song of love, until you’re reduced to little whimpers. I'm here--hanging on to every word, hanging on to every whimper, hanging on to YOU.

I want you spent, every trouble, every problem, every negative thought washed away...swallowed whole as your once incarcerated libido drips unfettered down the back of my throat. Mmmmm, free at last. Free. At. Last.

Then, I want to sleep with you, in the most innocent sense of the phrase, your body curled up tenderly against me, the warm, rhythmic caress of your breath against my skin as you dream peacefully...and I want to wake entrenched in the wonder of after glow, your head on my chest, a smile on your beautiful face.

Let's talk girl, you know I love our conversation.

Synergy

Whisper those secrets
To me… again
Draw in your breath
With each new revelation
Again
Slow down each move…
…meant between us
Again
I want to draw you
Have you draw me
In
Again
And
Again

You and I

We're one in the same. You and I, connected in a way only imaginable to most. It's a beautiful pleasure to have you make love to me, making me cum multiple times in your various, skillful ways.

But I don't think you understand the depth of the pleasure I get when I get to ravish you in return. I love being inside you. Whether it be with fingers, or tongue, or...manufactured implements of erotic exploration. Entering you is sacred, to be surrounded by you, divine-and when we're lost in our passion, it's like we fade out of this existance and into some sublime realm unseen, unfelt by most. When you let a moan escape your lips, that sound...oh love, that sound goes directly between my legs. I love when your breath catches, then becomes heavy...your unspoken praise for a well timed, well placed touch or flick of the tongue.

You don't have to speak. Your body speaks volumes. That sweet, sexy sigh says "oh yes, do that again", that rhythmic, oceanic roll of your hips says "that's the spot, right there" and that trembling thigh is an implicit call to "ready yourself for the inevitable, impending explosion".

Days afterward I still catch visions in my head--visions of you straddling me, grinding down on me as you gripped the headboard--as I raised my head from the pillows to suck and nibble on your tempting, swaying breasts...fingertips leaving indentations in your flesh as my greed for your release transforms the soft and sensual to it's purest, most primal base... "Fuck me".

Those moments of passion and desire are madness, but amazing. Exhilarating. Extraordinary. It's not just fucking, no, not with us, it's something so much more. It's something surreal, bewitching, beautifully haunting...because you and I, we're one in the same...connected in a way only imaginable to most.

Style

I have, you see, a simple style

In my cargo shorts, a tee and a smile

My style revolves around no fancy labels

I can walk in a room and I'm still able...

To turn you on.

Fuck Versace, de la Renta, and Louis Vuitton

I'm not a slave to fashion trends

That shit starts and that shit ends

And then it's on to something new

And not one bit of it was ever "YOU"

I have, you see, a simple style

In my cargo shorts, a tee and a smile

I like 'em a little loose

It's a sensory thing for me

Don't like to feel constricted

I like my movement to feel free...

Like the wind.

Fuck a trend.

I need no one to define my style

I'm a star baby

In my cargo shorts, a tee and a smile.

I'm not knockin' you fashionista's

I'm just "doin' me"

But I'd bet you'd look damn sexy

In cargo shorts and a tee...

Then add the ultimate accessory

So very versatile

Tie the look together

With a mesmerizing smile...

But then you'd be copying me

Ha!

O-rig-in-al-ity...(pause)

That's what style is all about.

Write? Riiiigghhht...

Hello Frisky Notebook long time, not much writing. Sorry. Admittedly, my focus has been overwhelmingly divided in recent months...not much time to sit alone with my thoughts and put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and let my innermost expression flow.

I need to flow.

When I go this long without writing, I feel bloated. Bloated with words that not too quietly insist on their creation...their birth a well strung together verse, celebrated with a re-read and a satisfied smile of accomplishment--but their death comes when they don't get written, when there are too many words piled on top of each other and to just relieve the bloating, all I can do is vomit nonsense, corpses of once alive and flourishing words onto the page.

I've made a commitment to myself to start dedicating more time to my writing. It may take me a little while to get back to that point where all I want to do is write, but you, dear Frisky Notebook, have my word that I am stepping up my efforts. There will be more frequent posts here in the coming months than there has been in previous months, it may not all be wondrously post worthy since I've gotten a little rusty and I need to find that perfect but sometimes elusive creative space in my mind, so please bear with me-sometimes you gotta dig past shit to reach gold...but stay tuned!

There's more to come. Much, much more.

Beneath The Moon

Beneath heaven's vast display of night-time beauty,

I am captured by star kissed eyes

the color of a Spring-time woodland.

They speak to me of a growing hunger,

Ecstasy encased in a sweet soft kiss,

Summer grass caressing your fragile skin

'I need you' murmured with desire

Bodies touch and worlds collide

Bringing to fruition galaxies of emotion

Enticed into daring adventures,

as love play takes hold.

Hands grasped together,

to hang on to reality.

Lips blushed and swollen,

as pleasure is taken in full

Beneath a voyeuristic moon.

Morning Kisses

Tender morning kisses
part sweet lips
while a gentle brush
of loving fingertips
caress soft flesh
to slowly stir her awake
as I patiently await
with no sense of rush...

I just need... to touch her

In My Blood

Like velvet - your hands
pass over me with a gentle clinging
to my very being
your body hits me like a fresh flame
and my defenses melt away
with fresh kisses
they remind me of still beauty
after a vengeful rain
pouring into me
Passion,
Niagra feels defeated by
touches overflowing - lava
brings fever to the coldest - hearts
like a newly woven web
drenched in glitter of the clearest night
where sensations once lost,
windows fogged, almost forgotten,
prove to be closer than they appear
and I prove each breath is deeper
With you, here,
flooding bodies with secret dreams
reaching to souls with desperate hands
clawing lightly at thick skin
until we pump through veins
the sweetest resurrection
Loving you is in my blood.