It’s the afternoon
And, as always, this wakes my hunger up
It begins in glances and smiles
Working its way through to my hands
Longing to touch you
My feet, to take me to you.
Works its way to my tongue longing to taste you
My teeth to bite you and mark you as mine
It spreads to my lips longing to press to the soft and hard parts of you
It spreads electric down to my cock
Pulling it upward in defiance of gravity
Until it’s rock hard, pulsing and warm
It longs for your touch
The feel of your hand
The feel of it entering warm dark places of ecstasy and eloquence
Sliding in like completing a circuit of me and you
Trapped in this eternal moment of hunger
wants
Thoughts on reciprocity and love
There is nothing I desire more than to have the love I am, the love I send out be returned to me by those I love. I suppose that’s where my failure lays. That I need that love to be returned to me.
It’s counter intuitive. When we love, we want, we desire, that love to be returned to us. But that is placing a boundary on love. It is saying that I will only love if I gain from doing so. And that is not love. That is calculation, that is want.
Or perhaps I am painting myself as someone to be held to a different standard because there are none who return my love. And it is easier to say that that is a fault of humanity instead of my fault. That those my heart love are always the ones least likely to love me back.
Or maybe the truth, TRUTH, lays somewhere in between. Maybe I need to be a bit more forgiving of my own needs, my own desires.
Or maybe I just need someone to hold me and tell me it will be OK.
Perhaps I should accept the fragility of my heart and just accept that as long as I am honest in my love, as long as those I love know that They Are Loved, I have done all that I can.
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My night out
That moment of hope between waking and dream
just that moment before it’s all that it seems
just the seconds that pass in heavy silence
just the times when on the tip of my tongue I’ve not said
I want you on the tip of my tongue
just these moments we let flow by
whether from desire or its lack
just this not quite fear
not enough to make me act
and the desire to say yes, mistress/yes, master
take me
use me as you desire
and in the morning make me coffee
and kiss
but this slow silence where it’s all ponderous dream
and the next round
the next dream
the next chance?
It’s on me.
Pelgris 