I will make a habit of things. No, more than habit: ritual. I will ensure every response to me is emphatic, yet prescribed, the motion of deeply internalized praxis. Continue reading “Sinister Needs”
Come closer, burrow in against me, muffle the sounds of the rain with your body on mine. Continue reading “Boobday: Offering”
It’s one of those days, one of those moods, when my blood feels hot and syrupy in my veins. Continue reading “Feral”
I discovered a new hashtag on Instagram yesterday … Continue reading “Boob Day: Unrestrained”
I am the storm. Continue reading “Chaos”
This is an anonymous guest post by the same stunning woman, Eve, whose breasts we saw for Boobday and whose slice stunned us for Sinful Sunday. The words and self portrait are her own. I think they combine beautifully and make for a gorgeous meditation on self love, self care and body acceptance. Continue reading “When I Fall”
Take it, take it all.
All of me, hard and suddenly, leave no hip or thigh unbruised. Do not suffer a moment of thirst when my slit is so ripe, ready to wet your lips with the quietest kisses. Continue reading “Just Take It”
I need you.
I need you here, in my bed, your hands traveling over my feet and ankles, my calves, the notches behind my knees. Continue reading “Late Night Thoughts”
Ever ours. Continue reading “Ever Mine”
Votre coeur a compris le mien. Dans la profondeur de la nuit parfumée, j’ai écouté avec une âme ravissante votre voix bien-aimée. Votre coeur a compris le mien. Continue reading “In the depth of the fragrant night”
The open window lets the night in and it
hangs itself damply about the room.
Alert, lathered with sweat,
she is a caged animal,
feral with desire, marked for madness.
She turns and twists in the sodden sheets, heart enraged as her body suffers without him.
Dreaming in a far away language,
he wriggles as he wills her fingertips to
scorch him, one more time, make it last this time.
He hears his name, hot as fresh honey on her lips, his name again, rolling around in her mouth like a smooth stone. He wonders if this fever will ever break.
Winter is our season, yours and mine.
Hardscrabble, tough won comforts,
words incubated in the dark.
Hope etched in ice.
I’ll step in your big footsteps in the snow,
single file along the riverbank
to hear your voice rasp
and cloud the cold air.
Love under great cedars
fast icy water.
Mittened hands clasped,
calling back to the wolves,
fighting tears and memories,
Follow me into the forest, amongst the trees and wild things. Lose yourself with me and we can stay lost forever.
And then, as if no time had been lost, there they were.
Brow to brow, breathless, fingertips on fire, flanks rippling with anticipation of touch, each weeping, though neither from their eyes, forming an unseen haze of desire in the air between them.
Nostalgia and imagination swirled from their hushed lips:
You smell like sugar
You feel like heaven
Soft smiles and burning eyes, their resistance wearing thin. Risk, reward, adventure, pain, endless wanting, reckless waiting.
You feel like home
You taste like sin