Goals for the New Year

The smell of you in my throat
The taste of your orgasm on my tongue
The wet slickness of you slowly drying on my face
The clenched fist of desire in my pelvis
The shaft of me grown stiff and throbbing
The ache of your lips wrapped around me
The pressure and heat of your tongue
The scent of winter rain
The thrumm of us moving in concert
The pain of handcuffs suspended
The ecstatic breathe that slips past the constriction of my hands
The feel of your leash in my pocket
The weight of you in my lap and arms
The sight of you kneeling at my feet
The sound of leather striking skin
All packaged up, running through my head and nerves
When you say


all choosing and not choosing leads down branching paths
each word spoken, written or left unsaid is a choice
each step, fast or slow, each breath we take

yet we feel these moments when something possible slips away
and we cannot help but regret them.  I don’t know if this possible slips away for good.  I don’t know if what I chose to keep on course with will be what I need.
I don’t know

Uncertainty makes us grasp and reach for the differing branch
the unknown, the possible always seems like the better choice
because that world is a fantasy
It doesn’t have the problems of the one we chose
Because we do not envision the problems, only the ideal.

And maybe it would be great, amazing even
I have the feeling it would be
But right now
Where I am now
I could not imagine life without
and because I could not
A choice, a word, it all had to be said
And decided
For now

Post solstice blues

Present in the moment is as much curse as blessing.
With the future nothing more than a ephemeral dream, present becomes of such importance. And not being with those I would choose, who I have no idea if they would choose me, is like being shredded apart only to coalesce whole at the start of the day. Each minute is a new chance, and so each minute becomes a failure. Until the weight of such drags me down to dreaming. At least in oblivion, desire is fulfilled. Though only shadows as portent and memory fade.

After the winter solstice it all winds down. A clockwork spending its energy. This is the time most people wake and grow. This is the time that I fade.

Where my heads at

I don’t want to wallow in misery propped up by others feeling horrible. I want to wallow in joy, exhultant in love. I want to dance with Em, sing with K, hold A, kiss everyone. I want joy and laughter. I’m so tired of things not working out. Of things being so complicated, of distance and acting responsibly, deliberately. It gets old, gets tiresome. Sometimes, I just want to scream my want. Not that doing so does any good but fuck, sometimes, something has to give