Tag Archives: poetry

There is no Impurity and There is no Purity.

13 May

I write because there is so much that yearns to spill forth from me. Earlier I was in the sauciest mood, and my mind was a waterfall of things like edible body paint, rope, sex toys and whatnot. My oral fixation was completely out of control and I couldn’t stop yearning for something delicious to occupy my mouth and tongue.


I took a few seconds to stop and laugh at myself; I’m just about to ovulate and my sex-drive always goes ridiculously through the roof at this point in my cycle. It was nice to feel that part of myself again, though. It’s almost as if my inner tigress has been dormant because I haven’t had the extra energy to feed (or fan) her flames. 


And so today, I’ve felt not only this extra burst of sexual energy, but also a heightened sensitivity to my submissive side. These are the times that I would give anything to be tumbling around with you, and wrestling, if only as an appetizer to the moment that you would inevitably pin me and claim your prize.


It’s in moments like this one that my hunger for the edge grows strong and pulses intensely inside of me, my heart and cunt aligned in their appetites. I get so curious about things like pain and pleasure and limits and surpassing such limits. I think of the incredible poem by Christopher Logue:

Come to the edge,” he said.

        They said, “We are afraid.”

   “Come to the edge,” he said.


        They came.


    He pushed them…
 And they flew.

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Fireflies and the Moon.

12 May

And he said he’d be the second sun, if that’s what it takes to love me. For me to feel loved. 

“Why would I waste my time with little fireflies, when you’re the fucking moon in the sky?” he said. 

It was then that I lost my words.

9 May

edencafe:

Word of the Week: Erotic ”Erotic. Let the word be crafted by your tongue and flow from your mouth, tumbling across your lips. Let it trickle down your chest and pool between your legs, nothing more than a word. Erotic”

Wet Ink: Stripping & Scripting.

8 May

For her.
 

I LOVE YOU, BABE. And I love that you get me. Love that Juliet can call you up just to hear Nat’s voice in the early-morning hours AND WE CAN DISCUSS THE YOGA-BALL SUTRA we never got around to writing after we healed from that silly bout of Mono that changed our lives and brought us over the ocean’s waves.

I LUST AFTER YOUR FLUIDITY, DARLIN. The way that you are feeling-oriented one day, body-oriented the next moment, and then all of a sudden we’ve taken Baudelaire and put him on the shelf. No. Not the shelf. Framed in frosted glass on the bathroom walls. But just as a reminder. A fuzzy one. Not meant for clear reading. Of course.

And then we’re back in the thick of it, BEING VIRGINIA, and theoretical verbiage is dancing off your sexy tongue right into my heart, but you’re not talking theory, YOU’RE SINGING THE PRAISE-SONG OF YOUR IDENTITY, YOUR EMBODIED-ESSENCE, AND IT LEAPS INTO ME, FILLING ME TO OVERFLOWING.

YOUR FLUIDITY MAKES ME WET, ‘CAUSE WE ARE ALIVE TOGETHER AND WE VIBE TOGETHER. We are two women on a journey to strip back the barriers that keep us hidden from our own selves, that keep us veiled from the magnificence of this world and each other. We are stripping and scripting and scripting and stripping with beginning and beginning. A practice to come back. To return. Again. Again. Again.

STRIPPING AND SCRIPTING. SCRIPTING AND STRIPPING. THIS IS A PRACTICE. THIS IS THE BEAUTY YOUR SPIRIT IS HERE TO TEACH. OPENING AND UNFOLDING. STRIPPING. AND BREATHING. SCRIPTING AND RELEASING. TOUCHING FREEDOM. FINDING OUR HEART-KEYS AND UNLOCKING OUR SENSE-DOORS, OPENING OUR OWN PRISON-CAGES AND STEPPING OUT FROM BEHIND THE BARS. THROUGH THE BARS. STEPPING OUT. STRIPPING AND SCRIPTING. BECAUSE WE CAN. BECAUSE WE ARE HERE TO LIVE. WE ARE THAT. SO HUM, SAID THE GODDESS TO THE GLOWING SUN.

And I love that we are still txting as we’re sending t-mail in the darkened night hours, FINDING OURSELVES AND LOSING OURSELVES, SPARKLING AND SHINING AND GLISTENING WITH CUM AND TEARS AND BROKEN-OPEN HEARTS, and playing with social media that sometimes flies clear over both our heads. We whisper to each other about who’s driving the bus, and who’s tantrumming, and who’s blossoming at any given time. And I know Slice and the one who sits with her hands folded all sweet in her lap and you’ve met Khandroma, and the subbie, and Arabella, too.

You are a sparkling jewel, angel. A rockstar-fucking-goddess. And damn sexy, at that. I BOW TO YOU, MY SISTER, MY LOVER, MY FRIEND, MY SOUL MIRROR, AND I BOW WITH YOU: In(curvature). (In)creasing. In(deepening). (In)streaming. In(love). STRIPPING (&) SCRIPTING.

|x-posted from here|