She consumes me
Heart on fire but no words
Take you into my hands
Make you safe and unsafe
Dance hands across skin
Air dwindles as euphoria spreads
I know she doesn’t want me
Her heart a danger
Can’t help how I feel
She doesn’t want to know
Again and again on this circus wheel
Making the same mistake
Only one ever wanted me
And I failed her
I don’t deserve anyone else
When I say I need you, I don’t mean I need you to pick up my clothes. I don’t mean I need you to take care of me. I don’t mean I need you to make me dinner.
When I say I need you, I mean your presence in my life makes the sun shine a bit brighter. I mean your presence in my life makes my days pass easier and not quicker. I mean your presence in my life drives my passion and forces my creativity to new avenues and choices.
My need is a thing of desire and joy and change. I need because wanting is lukewarm and nothing in the context of love should be anything but the fire burning.
I need comfort and safety but I need it not as a person or place to retreat to but to strike out from. To experience the vastness of life and still know that together we are safe because with each other there is a place to be without that shifting chaos.
I need you to feed me oxygen and fire in equal measure as I feed you earth and water. Or let us not be bound by needs but feed each other golden apples plucked from an immortal tree and know that as one desires the other will provide.
I need you to disagree with me and fight me because I believe I’m right but I’m often wrong and I trust you to give me the truth. But I won’t believe it. And we’ll make up and a few months later, I’ll say “You were right.”
I need you to be vulnerable with me and let me heal the hurts that I can and hold you together while you heal the ones I can’t reach. I need you to know my insecurities and know that despite them I am strong and will not fail you when it counts.
Need is not a dirty word. It is passion coupled to desire. Put want back where it belongs. I want a salad. I want to drive. I want to have a comfortable chair.
When I love
it burns as molten salt
tracing it’s way through veins and capillaries
bursting from my hands and tongue and eyes
a torrents rush of passion blazing
I pour myself into you expecting to be met
to cavort with similar passion
instead find hollow tubes or cool waters
that swallow all that I am
give nothing back
confused and broken
I am discarded
I dreamed last night about a woman with dark hair. A bit curly. with dark eyes that smouldered. She had curves and valleys. She was looking for something and found me. I don’t believe that I was what she was looking for. We ended up in my bed. King size, cream colored silk sheets. With a 4 point suspension rig. Kissing her was like kissing a waterfall. Tentative, just the edge then power and passion that nearly wipes you away until you are standing in the middle, fierce joy and need, a fire burning. Our clothes disappeared and we stood with our imperfections baired. We fell on each other like starving wolves. Tongues and nails. Teeth and flesh. The first orgasm was a thing of abandon and need. Something that tore out of us to beat heavy on the warming air. We slowed long enough to hear her desire to fuck me with a strap on. Flash to me face down in the cooling sheet while she pounds into my ass with a fuschia dildo. It was glorious. Pain and pleasure and the thought of the beautiful woman wanting this. Flash to us spent on the bed.
I look quizzically at the suspension rig and she nods eagerly. She likes pain and being out of control, sometimes, then. I lock her in and suspend her. Black leather caressing and spreading her. Exposing her to me. Vulnerable. Safe. I take her. Edge her to orgasm then pull back. Until she’s writhing with need then push her over the edge. Again and again, until she is limp and spent. Her body shuddering in aftershocks. We are sweating and the air smells of sweat and other things. I get a towl. Soft. I clean her and myself off. She is falling asleep. I snuggle down next to her and sleep.
I wake some time later. She is gone. I rush out in a robe and find her walking home. I say, “Stay. You can stay. Have breakfast with me. Have lunch. Stay.”
She says, “I have to go. I’m looking for my daughter. I think I met you at the wrong time. We could have been something.”
I say, “Find her, then come back to me. You are safe here. Always.”
She just looks away.
I say, “There is no right moment, no perfect time. There is only this moment. This time.”