Love and heart open wide,
as the tune and melody
come to the page and play
in brilliant order.
With a deep breath,
the magic forms
from the angst and frustration.
Words of magic
dance with wonder,
forming spells and notions.
Inspirations and illumination.
with your song ,
blow me your kiss.
My Valentine to myself this year is to know what I truly want and need in a relationship. I want a man who can hold me hard (and soft) and make me feel like there is nothing in the world that can hurt me -- because his strength and wisdom will overcome all things.
Splash all the paints you have.
Let's make something abstract.
Or just sketch an outline
and shade me with your love.
Go under my skin now.
Use your lips now and paint me.
Let my goosebumps add to your artwork.
Wet, our bodies swelled against each other with a perpetuating force that felt self-sustaining -- and again, annihilating. Oh, that dense intensity of alchemy between you and me! A sort of energy that tantalized and taunted saying: "Do it… I dare you. Unleash that wild thing beneath your skin. Let it sin!"
Straddle me with your strength. Plant your hands onto my waist and move me. Embrace my womanly curves with your gentle grasp. Slide up my beat. Glide down my thunder. Vibrate my movements. Let me saddle you with my unrelenting hips.
Love is a recipe, nothing more, nothing less. It starts with two people, a cup of trust, a tablespoon of playfulness, a dash of respect, a pinch of vulnerability and an arena where these ingredients can be happily mixed together and baked.
The question here is: has the modern Sexual Revolution liberated us in order to enjoy deeper and more long-lasting intimate relationships, or has the absence of the potential for fertility in the sex act caused us to become more distant from the original sacred purpose of intimacy?
I saw a couple once sleep in this way: They both lay there; just laying there, no warmth, just cold running through the middle of the bed. It was a strange experience; it was like seeing something you shouldn’t have seen, but being drawn to it anyway. I can still smell the cold crisp air which escaped into the room from the AC socket I had removed to keep the chill out.
I am not saying there is anything wrong with traditionally salacious women. Being one myself, I believe owning your sexual identity is one of the most empowering things someone can experience. With that being said, the more these reckless nights piled up, the less fun they became.
Pregnancy can spike a gal's sexometer and, on the contrary, can feel as though any sexy desire has nestled down for a long winter's sleep. But, if the mojo is turned ON and all is healthy and well, why not allow your sex drive to take you wherever it leads?
Yes, Lovely Lady, I am at your feet. I am here, your Master and your Servant, your man waiting patiently for that moment when time and space have closed to nothing more than a bead of sweat between us. I am here, and someday soon this guttural growl that grows within me will become a roar that explodes and echoes deep within you. You will feel me, and you will never be able to let me go.
Ida Funk, in her mid-thirties and slim, with green eyes behind wire-rim glasses and curly auburn hair clasped back in a bun, sat on the edge of a hard bench in the dim light of the doctor’s hallway. Her hands clenched tightly to the scarlet scarf resting on her knees. The full-length blue dress she wore did little to make her feel less naked for the treatment she had come to receive.