Archive
Behind me.
You formulated this idea in my mental kitchen that I will nurture and take care of you in such ways. Be the woman enveloped with the most secret parts of you. Be sweet to you… You love my sweetness the most. You never had a woman so willing, so caring, that when you walk through the door, towards, the energy I absorb. Anything you ask, I’m your mami, all yours. I don’t even need to know where you are… You are behind me, arms folded, waiting, agitated, becoming even more.
Bracelet.
City walks (and sits).
Duke.
Through sunlit window, I see you walk towards, Hearing the door, Close behind you, Closer to four, In the afternoon, in a city, On a Saturday, In the latest and hottest part of, June. He’s not here with me, and no mind towards you and me being here alone. The openness of you and he, fighting between carnal and care, an energy magnified by a 100°. You tempt wanting more, sometimes.
I'm up, ma.
I’m up, ma, Watching you, too, Seeing you from this bed, Lying in between wake & rest. You can feel my eyes on you, Last night, rough, I see the marks & stress. Don’t worry, my Queen, I’ll be taking care of you, In just a moment. Seeing you now, Bare back, I’d kiss. Pantyless, I can’t help grabbing hold, Stroking, Thinking, What to do to you next. I love that you think I never rise the minute your side is without mine, that I wouldn’t notice.
Love.
Monterrey.
You like that, begging, pleading, spreading out for your display. Makes me think of Monterrey. Me pressed against a cold glass pane, asking over and over and over for you to finish with me. My thighs propped up and tired while you clench fully my throat from each side, me becoming your mold and shape, you knowing where to hold in order for me to still breathe. You command, “Don’t move, ma.
Morning.
Our talk, part 1.
My ear pressed to the phone, I can hear you breathe before you speak. Trouble and peace in an accent from the middle of two oceans between west and east. Your existence consumes me even though an earth keeps us so far away, our love separated physically most days, but tied infinitely by the heart. I always try to hold onto the memory of your face, you towering over me, your chest to grab.
Purrs.
I’m trying to write a romance, With a cat nuzzled by my side. He really isn’t much help, This cat, With any storylines. He comforts me, Sleeping affixed. After scheming, To be next, To my left hip. He probably wonders why, These humans are, So… Hot and bothered, Vexed, Turmoiled. His head cocked in one direction, “Aren’t I enough of a love story?” From a feline, Whose existence, He thinks,
Rooftop naps.
Life of a city cat.
Silhouette in nude.
You love women, their architecture, design. You’ve loved them since the first moment you masturbated to thoughts of one, trying to recall every part of one. Your favorite, the mature kind. I remember you told me about the wife across the road, down the way, before you went off to war too soon. She’d let you watch her through a glass pane window, so you could learn where to touch, and then maybe practice some more later on.