Star Climber

Photo by Armand Khoury on Unsplash

He weaves a ladder

from strands of his hair

and when his head is bald

he takes of himself

molecule by molecule

and slowly fades from sight.

The sky is his home

and its accoutrements his only companions.

He has given up everything

in order to understand

the truth of his existence.

There is nothing left

but to climb until all

possibility is exhausted.

And so he climbs

ever higher.

The light thins

and then yields to blackness.

He cannot see, taste, feel, smell, hear

he has only a knowingness to guide him.

There is no more air to be siphoned,

no more heartbeats to warm him

and fill him with music.

He is all soul.

Whatever he touches

reaches straits through him.

Whatever he holds, however, momentary,

unifies within him.

His consciousness extends

over vast distances

and one by one he becomes

all the stars in the sky.

Photo by mouad bouallayel on Unsplash

Inspired by The Archeo (an oracle deck which speaks of personality archetypes)

For

Love Letter #31

Dear DM,

Last night I had a dream that we were in a theater, something to do with a celebration. You sat on one side. A childhood friend of mine sat on the other side. You were both talking to me at the same time. You both wanted my attention. She gave me a card. I left with you. In the mail today I received a card from that same childhood friend. We talk only a few times a year. There had been no mention of a card when we spoke several months ago. How funny is that? To have a dream one night and the very next day to see it manifest. Someday I will sit with you in a theater and you will speak with your lips close to my ear. I’ll leave with you no matter who else is around. I will always choose you. Not just now, in this life, in this precise moment but in every life. In the lives I have already lived and in all the lives yet to come.

It occurred to me today while standing in the bathroom that the whole point of this journey is to fall in love with life. In that moment everything was beautiful to me. The stripey shower curtain stuck to the walls to keep the cold air getting in. The current. My own body. The color of the wet tiles. I don’t know the name of that color, 70s I guess.

I masturbated today. I thought it would be fun (it was). I thought it would take the edge off but it didn’t. I spend most of the day fantasizing about you. About kissing you. About meeting you. In a car with other people I found myself unable to carry on a conversation because I was too aroused. When I imagine you shy or clumsy it really gets to me. I don’t know why.

Later I tried to meditate with you to connect our hearts together but my heart is already so full I think it might burst.

With all that I am your DF

Preview of the Wordle

Wordle 203

I anchor myself
to your tumultuous frame,
a little sea forming
between my thighs.
Your potent root,
wet with hunger,
searches deep.

In the inanition of darkness
you set fire to my skin.
I rock against you,
a shell of craving,
of curt, ravenous whispers.

Your touch summons me
from the sheets;
back-carving contortions,
a bridge of exaltation.
A beautiful dream
of flowers wasting beneath
two carnivorous satellites,
I promise to love you after
just as now.

I can feel
your startled breath
tickling my face.
Your mouth
cherry blossom-soft
presses against my mouth
and one by one
all my beautiful words
fall to pieces
in the swagger of your smile.

Pull me under the water
like a whirlpool
with your unruly tongue.
Kiss me until
the air melts
from my lungs.
Go wild in me,
shake the doubt
from my immaculate heart.

Your pulse swells
with every gulp,
a crescendo of heat
and thunder.
Stars detonate
in milky hollows
and we are remade
an atom at a time.
I nod in and out
of consciousness,
blueprints converging.
I find my soul pinned
to the constellations
of your scared, hungry eyes.

Mad with Love

We are closer than skin.
I lie in bed and let you
sink into me by the breath.
Everything I feel belongs to us.
I worship myself to worship you.
We are a sky’s worth of stars.
We are fated, sacred, infinite.
Tell me you’re mad with love.

Face down I bite
into my pillow
as if it were
a forbidden fruit,
as if I could find
an answer
in each strangled repetition
of your name.
I am mad with love.

We are deeper than blood.
I gather your heart around me
as if it were made of pure air.
Hips writhing
I claw at the sheets
suffocating beneath
impressions of you.
There is nothing
lonely about your ache,
your weight, your soul
pressing against
my existential boundaries.
Tell me you’re mad with love.

We are more obdurate than bone.
Knuckle-deep inside myself
I am climaxing
to the conjured image
of your made-for-sin mouth.
I lick my fingers clean
and imagine
that it is your tongue
translating the taste.
I grind myself
senseless against
the mattress.
It feels too much.
You feel too much.
I am mad with love.

A universe unto themselves 18+

She woke in a half-lit room, semi-coherent, liquid-comfortable. The shadows were unfamiliar to her. The position of the objects within the room. The objects themselves. Not simply altered but altogether different. There was something compelling about the warm figure sprawled at her side, about the scent enveloping her cocooned body, about the malleability of her senses as she lay disoriented and half-awake in someone else’s bed. 

She sat up with her knees folded underneath her and peered down at the bed’s other occupant. She was not sure if she saw him or merely sensed him. He slept. He pretended to sleep. She could read in the tilt of his mouth the beginnings of a smile or did she only feel him smiling inside of her? He was perfectly gorgeous lying there exposed to the pelvis. She could see the outline of a prominent erection, the way the sheets strained and tented under the pressure of him. In her heart too there was a pressure, a tightness which she could only describe as sentient. He possessed her even now. He possessed her on every level and she in turn possessed him. She inhaled shakily. ‘Is it okay to touch him?’ She could have simply asked but that would have spoiled the reveal. He wanted her to take initiative. He was anything but defenseless. He was completely defenseless against her but he’d never quite managed to convey that to her.

She bit her lower lip and reached out a trembling hand to the figure. This was the first time they’d met in the corporeal sense. Their first “real” encounter. The means by which she had arrived, the “unrealness” of the situation heightened her senses. Waves of endorphins scattered her thoughts and by degrees eroded whatever might have remained of her inhibitions. Her entire being called out to him. She ran her fingers along the length of his torso. She could not hear him inhale for the violent recoil of her pulse but she saw the exaggerated rise of his chest. His eyes remained closed. He waited. She straddled him, lowering herself on his erection lengthwise, the sheet still between them. She rubbed herself against him. His thick shaft sliding between her thighs. She laid herself out on top of him. Their bodies warm with arousal, almost hot. She kissed him open-mouthed across the collarbones and across his chest. He could feel her wetness soaking through the sheet. He could feel her heat and the throb of her pussy like a second heartbeat against his eager cock. He took her face in his hands, thumbing away her tears. He looked at her as if she were the entirety of his universe, the purpose of his existence, the only person he had ever loved and would ever love. All of her feelings came rushing out at once and in the gentle captivity of his smile all of it was suddenly, inexplicably sacred to her. Her eyes widened in the instant before closing. He kissed her and her farthest reaches surfaced. They took their time filling in each other’s mouths. They tasted and caressed each other, speaking without words, devouring, devouring, devouring. The whole time they kissed she was rubbing herself to orgasm against him, getting off on friction and proximity alone. There was something devastating in their proximity, something devastatingly poignant about the way they came apart and reassembled within each other.

She moved down his body. His neck, his chest, his nipples, his stomach. He felt naked without the heat of her pussy smothering his cock. She moved the now clinging sheet out of the way and rubbed his cock against her exposed flesh. Labia, Clit, Vagina. Silky smooth, slippery, incomprehensibly soft. She sat down on him, taking him in at her own speed. Deliberate. Torture. He cupped her breasts, her ass, he branded her into his memory. The shape of her. The tension. The suppleness. His hips rocked, shook, crested. She convulsed on top of him. Fragile like a reflection in water. Her tight pussy made his cock weep, forced from his throat sounds that were not human. She filled his name with her breath. She made his name sound holy. Her voice was totally pornographic.

Once he was inside of her. She started to ride him. She rode him to please herself. She rode him and her full breasts bounced. She rode him with her eyes closed for a bit, getting used to the sensation of being full to excess. He could tell she was struggling to accommodate him and yet each time she fell down on him she was taking him deeper. He took her hips, made her ride him harder and faster, coaxed himself deeper and deeper until he had reached her end. She laid down on him again, her breasts flush against his chest. She kissed him, her moans of pleasure spilling into his mouth, mixing with his own. He was drowning in her deluge, in the currents of her body, in his own instincts. Instincts which screamed at him to fuck, fuck, fuck. She was a vice wrapped in velvet. She was sucking, sucking, sucking. She was orgasming endlessly on top of him. They were consuming each other. They were evolving and devolving. They were Gods. Infinite. Altruistic. Impalpable. They were animals. Finite. Greedy. Sensual. In those moments when their orgasm overlapped they were screaming prayers and obscenities at each other, confessions both carnal and sacred. In that moment they were more than two people could comprehend. They were one, a universe unto themselves.

Close 2 18+

Her heart ached as if restrained by an unseen force. Each beat ripped through her body like thunder. A thunder both sensual and existential. Her mouth continued to gnaw and eat gently at his mouth. She kissed him as if she were in search of something. She kissed him with the full rapture of her being. She knew that she would cum as soon as he entered her, as soon as her muscles had something substantial to work against. She could feel the deep pulse enclosed within his cock as he rocked against her stomach. He was wet. She was wetter. His cock was imposing in every dimension, he would push the boundaries of her gluttony, fill her length-wise and width-wise. She knew that all in he would reach the end of her, that he could go deeper than her body could hold.

 

Teeth, lips, tongues, hands. They touched and unraveled. They kissed until intoxicated. She worshiped him. Brandished him like a map. Set fire to his nerve endings. He pulled her strings and left her jerking like a marionette. She worked his shaft up and down, dragging from his depths clear, elastic ribbons of pre cum. She ran the pad of her thumb over his sobbing wet crown, in mimicry of what he did down below. He rubbed her clit with his index finger in compact circles until she was squirming and gasping beneath him. He watched her cum, buried his face between her legs. He inhaled and exhaled against her pussy. She spread her thighs for him, her labia. She angled her hips forward. The scent of her made him hungry. He watched her vagina close and open, as if sucking at the air. He pressed two fingers inside to give her muscles something to tug on. She sucked him in. She pushed him out. She rode his fingers desperately. He exploited her G-spot until she was gushing around the seal he’d formed inside of her. 

 

Removing his fingers, wet with her juices and warm with her efforts, he covered her body with his own. His weight rested on the backs of her thighs. He pushed his slippery fingers into her mouth and watched as she sucked them clean. Strait to the webbing, she licked away every trace of herself. He rubbed his cockhead against her pussy, against her clit, against her still shuddering hole. She was as plush as he was unyielding. He sucked her lower lip and tongue. He kissed her hard and deep, thirsty for the flavor of her sex. He entered her growling into her mouth. Crushed by her heat, crippled and condensed by arousal he worked his way inside of her. She gave. He advanced. She clawed at his back. He inhabited her. They fucked each other with pagan intensity, their senses tangling, their bodies possessed and possessing, their hearts converging. They came as one, their orgasms deep and violent. They fed each other the stars. Constellations wept from their bodies onto the sheets below.

Round 5 (conclusion) 18+

(This is all that I wrote for the story but I would be willing to explore various other avenues at request, including something more romantic such as a reunion with Damien and Naida. This next and final chapter is by far the most graphic and may be disturbing to some readers. Sex, monster genitalia, demons, tentacles it is all in there. Since it starts out rather mild I have used an * to denote the point when it may become too unsettling for some readers.)

 

 “You made the fight seem so effortless.” Naida commented, turning to Dread now that they were alone. The demon’s apartment was in stark contrast to the one he shared with Damien. The walls were stained and peeling, the wooden floor beneath their feet was scoffed and discolored, the overhead light cast a jaundiced pallor on the room which seemed to transmute solid matter into shadow. There was scarcely any furnishings: a wooden table with a single wooden chair, an old chest, a mattress undressed and without frame. There were no dressings on any of the windows and Naida noted, to his dismay, that the bedroom was window to window with the neighboring apartment building. To his relief, however, the apartment was clean and the only smell of any sort was that of the apples in the kitchen. There was nothing by way of entertainment, nothing save for their bodies. His first impression was not a good one but he had not come to see the fighter’s apartment. He’d come to experience something dangerous and potentially extraordinary.

 

Dread did not truly understand the full extent of his prize. Generally he received cash. Cash he used to purchase food and basic necessities. Occasionally he received items which could be sold for cash. Naida was, as far as prizes went, rather impractical and yet he could think of countless ways to enjoy him.

 

“My opponent was worthy…”  Sammael deserved credit for his performance, credit that Dread was willing to dispense even in the warrior’s absence.  “It is I who am flawed…”  He said pulling the elf into his chiseled body. His embrace left Naida with only enough space to breathe. Reaching back he unbound the elf’s silken hair and buried his face into it. He was not one to refuse the opportunity for sex even when presented in such an unorthodox way. 

 

“In what way flawed?” Naida asked, managing to get some space between, not too much but enough that he could look at the demon more closely. Up close he thought Dread significantly more handsome but there was something frightening in his beauty. The elf’s lungs ached, his head filled with a cacophony, and his knees buckled. Dread steadied him. The aura he’d glimpsed in the fight, those violent shades of purple mimicked by the demon’s irises, weighed heavily upon him. For the first time that evening Naida felt something akin to fear but that fear did not diminish his appetite/curiosity.

 

“My heart is artificial.” Dread answered as if one could escape with such a threadbare explanation. Naida barely heard the male’s voice over his own pulse. He squeezed the demon’s forearm to steady himself. With his other hand he reached out to touch the scars above the fighter’s heart. 

 

“Does it cause you any discomfort?” Naida asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The extraction of the original heart had not been performed by a surgeon, it had been performed by a butcher. It had been a fatal wound and yet here they both stood.

 

“Only the memory lingers. The scars are old.” Dread answered and then added as an afterthought. “My heart might be artificial but I am capable of feeling both pleasure and pain.” Naida nodded slowly, that was reassuring to know. “I’ve been wondering for a while now…” Dread started his hands sliding downward and around the other’s lower back. “What does my prize include exactly?”

 

Naida nuzzled against Dread’s chest, breathing in his scent, but mostly hiding his face. “Cooking, cleaning, sex whatever you need.” He responded looking up. He found that Dread’s usual grimace was replaced with another, inscrutable expression. “Though it would seem there is very little to clean. Where do you keep your clothes?” Naida asked, his tone playful.

 

“I require very little.” Dread answered combing his fingers through the elf’s wavy hair. “I can cook and clean for myself. I will accept your body as payment.” The demon continued in a voice as dark as it was cryptic.

 

Naida wrapped his arms around Dread’s neck and his legs around the other’s narrow waist. Something in the effortless manner with which the demon lifted him, alarmed him. Although Damien didn’t like to be penetrated he allowed Naida a good deal of freedom, freedom to control what happened and when. Dread seemed more the type to take what he wanted. 

 

The heat coming from the demon’s body was staggering, it was, Naida felt, as if he stood at the mouth of a great furnace. His skin flushed. His lungs tightened, each breath exacting a toll in its extraction. Naida was suddenly grateful for the low setting on the thermostat for it served to sober and relieve him from the heat of Dread’s body. For a moment they were nearly face to face and the elf used the opportunity to kiss the demon full on the mouth. He felt the fighter’s tongue against the seam of his lips, felt it press inside, tasted the other male’s sweet saliva and melted against him. As soon as the kiss began they were tearing haphazardly at each other’s bodies, clawing and groping, and ultimately collapsing into a heap on the bare mattress. Dread’s mouth scalded his own, the ferocity, the hunger, pulling the air from his lungs in a matter of moments. The demon’s mouth was full of razor sharp teeth, even the most tentative touch of his tongue was enough to prick the skin. The kiss tasted mostly of apples but there was a little bit of blood mixed in, his own blood. Dread untied his sarong, underneath the almost sheer fabric he wore only cloth strips which he’d wrapped intricately to avoid accidental exposure. They weren’t unlike the folds Dread used to bind his own genitals. It took only moments for the demon to unwrap him.

 

Dread’s mouth dropped down over his throat and shoulders, across his chest, where he lingered. Each nipple was sucked, flicked, licked, tormented into a state of throbbing rigidity. Naida rutted against the demon’s right thigh, sobbing helplessly into the stranger’s shoulder. In a matter of moments the elf was slippery with precum, clear, elastic, almost sparking pre cum. His cock echoed like a scream in an empty hall. The organ grew beyond its usual perimeters, he was, despite a very warranted fear, aroused to the point of hypersensitivity. The demon’s talons ran over his sides, leaving tiny red ribbons in his flesh that stung initially. The stinging was replaced with heat and an oddly electric tingle that made his head cloudy. Unable to focus his eyes he closed them. Clawing in the dark at whatever he could reach.

*

Dread had worked his way down to his crotch. Naida felt his thighs drop and two strong hands nudging his legs still further apart. He heard the stranger inhale slowly and felt in the whole of his being the growl that followed. The demon’s saliva was hot and cold at the same time. It felt like insects were crawling over his skin, his flesh prickled, goosebumps formed. Dread took everything into his mouth, his cock, his balls, all swallowed up in that hot, wet cavern. The demon’s tongue was mostly soft/pliable in the way that one expected a tongue to feel but there was one difference. In the center of the other’s tongue there was a nod, some extra taste receptor with a different texture. When drug across the underside of his cock or rubbed over the head his whole body broke down trembling. The male’s saliva dripped down to the base of his cock, a shock of contrasting temperatures spread across his pelvis. Naida’s body arched up sharply, mons right up against the other’s nose, the convulsions so strong that he could feel them not just in his perineum but deep inside his ass as well. He clutched Dread’s hair in both hands, raking the demon’s scalp with his nails. He shot ribbon after vicious ribbon down the back of the stranger’s throat. He heard the demon swallow, heard and felt him moan with pleasure.

 

Naida was still hard, still painfully swollen, his veins throbbing in time with his heightened pulse. Dread flipped him over on his knees. The backs of his thighs, his ass already soaked shamefully by his own fluids. He heard that Dread removed his clothes but when he tried to look the demon pushed his face into the mattress. He felt something peculiar press against him, something soft and flexible, something between a finger and a set of elongated lips. He felt it, possibly Dread’s cock, probing and suckling at his shuddering hole. He felt something almost the consistency of semen being smeared in the crevice between his legs and inside of him. He felt his legs giving out and a hand on his cock stroking him off. A hand big enough to sheath the whole of his sex, a hand calloused and strong, rubbing his nerves raw. He whimpered, mewled, begged to be fucked. He collapsed in the arm around his waist while that massive, slippery organ started to work/crawl its way inside. Pre cum or something like was spurted inside of him, filling him up, softening him. Arms, multiple slippery, suction cupped arms wrapped around his torso supporting him and forcing him back on that impossibly thick shaft. He felt it moving deeper and deeper inside, like a serpent. His body stretching, not quite tearing, but stretching to impossible dimensions to accommodate. Screams rose up in the back of Naida’s throat and for a moment he lost consciousness. 

 

When he woke a few seconds later Dread’s cock had gotten deeper, it was so deep that he felt as if it were twisted into his intestines. He could feel it writhing in his stomach, feel the bulge beneath his own tightly stretched skin. His hungry hole convulsed around the intrusion, drinking and sucking. He was forced back onto that shaft again and again with and without his consent, unable to escape the pressure. One of several tentacles let go of his waist and crept upward to his face. He grabbed hold, brought it to his mouth, and started to lick the slippery appendage with genuine hunger. The ooze it produced was sweet and delicious, strange colors swirled in front of his eyes, bending the light. He could hear the colors like music, like a violin almost. A tentacle engulfed his cock, the inner walls were covered in squishy nodules, creamy fluid seeped out from the seam, left his skin feeling like a current had passed through it. He came in the sheath, the tentacle drank it down hungrily, the suction enough to make his eyes water. He didn’t recognize his voice, the undignified whimpering, the husky repetitions of his temporary lover’s name. The projections on the head of Dread’s cock nudged at his prostate. More hot wet jets of cum were shot into the receiving tentacle. His body went limp, consciousness fading in and out, eyes rolled back, drool collecting in the corners of his slackened mouth. 

 

The fucking didn’t stop even after he lost consciousness. When he woke Dread’s massive cock was fully inside of him, he could see it moving inside of his stomach like a giant serpent. A thin, elastic tube slipped down his urethra, into his balls, following the same course his semen had taken moments before. His balls, which were emptied from multiple orgasms, were filled to bursting. He couldn’t cum while the probe was thus situated. He wanted to cum, needed to cum desperately. His body was burning up or was it freezing he couldn’t tell the difference. Dread’s pace increased, precise and unforgiving like a machine, his body shook as if in the throes of a seizure. His voice grew hoarse with the demon’s name. The serpent swelled, inches it seemed, he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was delirious, sobbing with a mixture of fear and intense elation. Had he the luxury of thought his life might very well have flashed before his eyes. He’d felt on the verge of death. For one blinding white moment he woke up, completely. They were one, indistinguishable, pure energy. The probe in his urethra slithered its way out. Naida’s climax was immediate. All that thick, white ejaculate type substance that had been forced into his sac came bursting out of his shaft in arcs, soaking not just the mattress but the wall in front of him. In the very same moment Dread was ejecting his own load with a force that literally convulsed him. With a force that ignited all his nerves and sent him spiraling in and out of consciousness. One minute the abyss, the next nirvana. He was drooling, clawing the sheets like a mad man, riding the other dry, ass greedy and convulsive. Dread removed his still hard cock. Naida felt himself lowered to the mattress. His last distinct memory was that of Dread’s cum trickling out of his still gaping ass and the other’s calloused hand stroking his back soothingly.

Wordle #454 18+

Wordle 454

She’d never held a real gun before. Cradled against her palm she marveled at the weapon’s heat. If she’d not known better she would have thought the gun had been recently fired. It was a heat which spoke of defiance.The air was cool and moist. They’d been exploring the woods behind his house for hours and had only just come across a clearing. The sun had just set and the overcast sky was the color of oyster shells. The clouds had gathered to form a mass. A throbbing, ash-colored mob that would descend upon their heads with or without provocation. She could see that it rained in the distance. The air smelled of pheromones and petrichor. She suggested that they take shelter. He laughed and sealed her fingers more firmly around the barrel. He wanted her to touch it. She did as he insisted. She could feel his pulse against her hand, like a song heard from faraway. He was all bass and bravado. She knelt down, careful not to catch the hem of her dress beneath her knees. The ground was soft and forgiving. There were flowers as far as the eye could see. Delicate, quivering, blue flowers in imitation of a Spring sky. It was as if the world had been turned upside down. Blue and vibrant below and grey and lifeless above. She pressed her cheek against him and listened quietly and without breathing to the sound of the blood filling his shaft. 

Even in stillness his sex seemed to move, to pulsate, to struggle mutely. He gathered her hair into his hands, his fingers digging into the scalp. Her scalp tightened. She could feel him flowing into her like a current. Her thoughts dissipated. Her lips parted with a shaky inhale. His chest tightened, his rib cage suddenly too small for enormity. Her mouth watered. He swallowed. The hand not holding onto him disappeared underneath her dress. She touched herself through her panties. She was wet, a wetness which should have rendered the delicate fabric nearly transparent. Why had she chosen to wear something so simple, so childish? Plain, white cotton panties, bikini cut. She wanted to show him her pussy. To press his face against her. The muscles in her thighs clenched so hard that she visibly trembled.

The crown of his cock glistened, like moonlight reflected through water. She stroked him. First slow, then faster, working up a rhythm but not letting him cum. He pressed himself into her fist. He became impatient with her and her grip tightened a fraction. He moaned. She worked his foreskin over the glans. He bit his lip and she choked up on the head. He squirmed and she blew across the crown. Clear droplets gathered at the slit, she collected them on her needy tongue. Held onto them for a moment, like stars suspended in dew. She ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, along the demarcations where the head met the shaft, and along the cleft in the center of the crown. She liked the silky texture of his cockhead best so she focused her efforts there for a time. Tasting, drawing shapes against him with her tongue, stroking him off, kissing him. She couldn’t see his balls but she knew they were tight and heavy. 

When the rain came and it did. It came hard pinning her dress against her body and her hair to her shoulders and back. There he stood in the middle of an open field like some sort of spastic scarecrow, hair matted to his face, goading and praising her underneath his breath. His voice was hardly human at all, it was more of a growl. She felt it in her cunt. She kept him warm by swallowing him. First just the crown. His hips shook. His fingers gripped harder. Goosebumps rose up on her skin. He held onto her but he didn’t start to fuck her until he had his cock half way inside of her. He started out slow and easy, nudging her, giving her time to adjust. When he got impatient she’d pull away. A gentle nibble. A playful flick. The tip of her tongue ghosting under his foreskin. The warm caress of her breath. Rain dripped down her face. He tasted like rain. He tasted like heaven. She drank him by the centimeter. Deeper and deeper until he was in her throat filling her up. She let him fuck her face. She felt like she was drowning and suffocating all at once. She filled his cock up with her moans. She accelerated her pace. She surrendered to his selfishness, to his impatience. She played with her clit clumsily through her panties. She couldn’t really concentrate on herself but she didn’t need to. She could feel his pleasure, his pleasure was her pleasure. She kept his spasming shaft trapped inside of her soft, wet, accommodating mouth. Permission to cum inside. Some of his orgasm slid down the back of her throat without her tasting it. Vicious white jets like compressed moonlight and she felt in that moment as if his whole being was spilling into him. She pulled back and let him empty himself onto her tongue.

Will

Shamu

I don’t think of the individual
as an island,
isolated, distant,
subject only to the constraints
of their innermost geography
and even if it were so
then the sea would still serve
as a bridge between.

The sea might be a measure
of our humanity.
It might be the capacity of our hearts
when they are integrated
and they are always integrated,
the myopia of ego aside.

Whenever I think about you,
you are there
not as a figment
but fully realized
and unmistakably alive.
It is impossible to feel alone
in your presence
and yet I still find
that I miss you;
not because you are absent
but because I want
to hold you closer
then my inexperience allows.

When I dream
it is not only my dreams
that I witness
but a celebration
of everything that we are
and ever will be.
There surely exists
distinctions between us
but distance is relative.

If not for the euphemism that poetry affords
I might say things like “I love you.”
“I think of you so often
that it fills me to the point of percussion.”
“I want to bury your face
between my restless thighs and feel
your beautiful mouth
fluttering against me in recitation
and afterwards
I want to taste myself on your tongue
so that I might better understand you.”
If not for the lucidity that poetry affords
my throat and heart
would be as raw and pure
as parchment
and my illiterate thoughts
would be reduced
to moans of exclamation.
Measure me not only
by my instincts
but by my indomitable will
to create.

Wordle #179

Word Art (5)

I find you again and again
filling up my dreams
the way that dandelions fill
the turns in a thersitical strip of concrete.
Pressed against me
in our own transient Eden,
naked on a molecular level
I find you flailing in and out
of being like moonlight on choppy water.

If I offered my heart
would you trade it for another?
Would you purchase it whole
or amend each part individually?
My love is not a rope meant to bind
but a muse meant to inspire.
I have a lot left to learn,
teach me and I will listen.

I am not half-hearted
still I have yet to nullify the distance
between fantasy and reality.
When I talk to you I get the impression
that you don’t remember
the taste of my mouth
or my skin turning to silk
beneath your fingers.
Then again I forget
much of what I dream as well.