This is Right. This is Good.

Fuck yeah give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want. Continue reading “This is Right. This is Good.”

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Cosmic

He turns his back to me, a smooth lake of milk, quivering in the moon light. The curtains move in the warm breeze and cast shadows across him, inky blue and fleeting. In my hand I hold an instrument of torture and I mean to hurt him, I do, as he’s begged me to, this man whom I love. I mean to make him break and buckle for me. Continue reading “Cosmic”

I call him Darling, Baby, Hunny, Love

Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown

I have always been one for big thoughts and bigger feelings. I remember finding Kafka, reading about existentialism and I remember it hitting me deeply, striking a true chord: these were the questions I had always been considering, thoughts that had consumed me for my entire young life. Why were we here and for what? Life seems so arbitrary and is made even more absurd by the constant repetitive action of nearly each and every human being trying to find divine purpose, a kernel of meaning, a glint of hope that there is some magical ‘more’ that we can aspire to and find, if only we have the mettle. Continue reading “I call him Darling, Baby, Hunny, Love”

Varnish

His phone vibrated on the desk beside his laptop and he touched the screen to open her text. She often messaged him in the afternoons, leaving his mornings to him to be productive without her distracting words and images.  Those snippets of her fed the hunger in him, both a blessing and a curse, as they both worked from home. The message was just an image: a pristine white counter with a single bottle of red nail polish. His heart raced. She must have known what this picture would do to him, and if so, her hunch was correct. Continue reading “Varnish”

First Meeting

She adjusted the lacy top of her stockings making neat lines of the garters, fidgeting with the elastic, bending to straighten the seam at her toes. He had called from the cab, he was minutes away. He’d check in, carry his own bags, too modest to follow a cheery bellhop, and he’d knock, despite having the key – of this, she was certain because she had told him to do so. Continue reading “First Meeting”