words...

i must honor my vows, yet my lover inspires my place of desire. like a slow rain...drip,drip drip....then becomes a bang against the window, disruptive awakening my slumber of responsibility. creativity seduces me my fingers erect with possibility. my mind flooded with snippets of language sending chills through my spine. i want to run, i want to hide...i can do neither. where i turn there she is. aroused by her flow, the cadence pulsates and inhibits the necessary. listening is the foreplay...poetic loins desire to climax cannot be held back

back again

his words feed my famished soul in a way that i wasn't aware i needed. i stare at the phone thinking of reasons to call. i now avoid eye contact for fear that my sockets will lead to betrayal. he's with her...i must remind myself, yet wonder what would happen if i made a move. i need his voice the way i did years ago. i feel validated in my choice and again angered at the loss. i was supposed to hate. my heart turned cold. i want to meet his needs yet question my own intent as the need to conquer.

him

i crave connection with your creamy forbidden skin. i watch you from across the room and my heart explodes with attraction. i tremble with anxiety as i mentally explore this unknown territory. do you think of me?...am i new for you? i wonder what you smell like, if your touch would feel different. your lips...whether they would enjoy mine. i would always say no to such a possibility, fearful of the challenge...lack of connection...absence of understanding. with you i feel no fear.

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman. ~Anaïs Nin

untitled

our souls connected. instantly. he feels like home. like he understands my heart. his dreams had become mine. i envisioned holding his hand as he soared into the future. his laughter is like pure gold, melting dripping seductively encasing my insides. i could feel his hands on me. loving me from head to toe. -i love to love you baby-endeavering to heal old wounds. collecting his tears. how does one feel safe in the virgin experience of being held by you. where is your mind? where have your thoughts gone? your lips. sweet like warm syrup. brilliant as a vehicle for your soul to explode. i kept checking for you. hoping our eyes would meet from across the room. that i'd turn around to your yet unseen smile. that your strong arms would embrace my waist as you breathed me in. that your voice would be on the other end. that you were addicted to me. pursuing me. wanting me. needing me. blue balls of expectation. had to release on my own. again.

in recovery

like nicotine; i struggle with my addiction. i suck and puff and blow, only to be burned as the ashes drip between my thighs. you share your chromosomes like they are a prize. silence the day after yelling loudly in my heart. i try the patch, no substitute will do. i chew on another searching for satisfaction constantly reminded of the estatic euphoria that would exist between my lips. can i have another? i whore myself for more and more and more awakened to your backside moving to the horizon. you are my stick of desire, a glutton for you am i...and more and more and more always wanting. i smell you on another aroused by the fragrance of your funky fresh aroma and more and more i must have you nothing but death will separate. death of my soul it lies empty drained by the energy known as love and more and more i must still have more sucking on air that fills you on the inside lacking substance my mind begins to go conquered by toxins emitted i struggle with my addiction i struggle with my addiction i struggle with my addiction i struggle with my addiction

a.r.t.

there is something about an artist

they bleed creativity
i love to gaze into the eyes of an artist...boiling with unbirthed concepts
the way an artist walks is sexy
their hands, vehicles of the imagination
i've never met an artist that wasn't good in bed...the roll of his (or her) tongue
the use of his phallus as if it were a brush or pen
i'm talking about a true artist...one who is both aware and dedicated to the craft.
writers, painters, poets, sculptors, actors, etc...all artists.
all individuals with something on the inside that must be released to the outside world
verbosity exists through the masterpiece and speaks to the trained ear