Let the victory prevail

A.R. Rahman, The Pussycat Dolls - Jai Ho (You Are My Destiny) ft. Nicole Scherzinger

So it was.  For a pair that illuminated all that they touched, darkness surrounded them.  A moments repreive.  Saftey in the silent cloister.  She had longed.  She burned.  Waiting.  Yet so... had he.  Throughout the night passion had burned so fierce.  Yet always hidden.  The soft move, the glancing touch.  Conversations longing always to pass to the deeper, they language unspoken continually reaching out each to each desperate for contact. 

She leaned against his car.  waiting only for his advance.  The press.  The touch. The contact. The draw of heat rising from her skin by the slight elegance of his touch. 

The laugh.

The giggle.

The turn to the side. 

Would he move?  Then she felt his touch.  Then... his soft glance.  A gentle trace that gave birth to an inferno.  The pull, the lean, heated lips touching and in the slightest contact devastation born.  Passr on brought to life could never be secured back.  Erupting in its call to life, it was prepared to live, and in its life... burn ferocious.  In each touch, each draw, the glance where the hard tripped electric acrosss the her soft, a lifetime was lived.  Pleasure beckoned eternal.

The glancing contrast opening with the release of hooks that held, constrained, hills gentle sweet that felt the draw of his glance.  Fingertips light caress, followed by the grip.  Perhaps a flick, or two, across points so firm.  So filled... so longing.  A touch... the soft feel as his touch... his trace... drew along her  waist.  So ready... so heaving.  His fingers drew designs of pleasure along her skin so tight.  So burning.  So calling... him.   The wink of eyes laden with pleasure died again with the touch of his heated pleasure.  So it goes.  The brave die many deaths, and to die in pleasure only to be reborn anew.  She melted to his touch.

 The collapse of her soft surrender fell into his embrace.  Her burning kiss displayed the desperation of connection... so long denied.  She melted inwaistto him  as he melted into her...

Let the victory prevail...

if only for a moment everlasting.

To know

Foo Fighters - The Pretender

She knew.  What was he supposed to start this with?  New Order?  In this day and age where fine married Christian men post pics of their happy families after midnight.  I won't say anything.  The smile.  The eye that he says is closed... yet remains open.  So be it.

I know what she was thinking.  Put her name up.  Complete with her maiden name.  Show she was there.  A connection could be made.  Did she really think that he was that stupid?  Did she forget her final words to him?  Her thereat when he approached as nothing more than a friend.

Did she think he wouldn't remember all the times she acted as if he was crazy.  She wasn't there.  She was so clad to the other.  The one that created a singular, whereas she was desperate for confusion to muddle her life.  So desperate she would crate it even if it did not exist.  She had to have it.  Perhaps to rebel... perhaps to live.  So it was.

Did she not know?

Did she think that her feeble blows that regardless struck to the very hart of the one, HER ONE.  The match.  Souls mixed primal.  Congrats.  Did she, after fury at nothing, read the card she ripped in two.  Did she?  Did she even balk, dressed so elegantly in her bathrobe, in the middle of the street, in the middle of the day, while others where captured... in the middle of life, did she feel good as she saw him drive away.

Her one.  Her break.  The face in the corner of the mirror, that is only seen for a moment, yet when she turns to see... is gone. 

Was he supposed to forget?  About Ron.  About Jay.  Mike, Blake... heck any of the boys that she had called to her side.  Of course this follows to any of the platforms she was on.  For example, calls for one to fill the void could be sent out on Instagram, twitter, or any devce.  She could convince. She could plead of love for country, before her and the other left to another country.  It is to laugh.    By showing she was on, especially with her old account, she had shown she had never really disappeared.  She had always been on.  That which she had so desperately denied

Lies, a brilliant land.  To her health... Lady M.  Just like her message... the one that backfired... about your presence.  All she ever had to do was call.  Like the old days, do the accidental call.  Of course if that happened the worst thing of all might occur...


He might say hi back.

Hope

Madonna: The Best of Ray Of Light

All you can do...

really...

is celebrate.

Present... as he said it, it was already a thing of the past.  But... the future... it's nothing more than a quicksilver gift, the past is gone.  The present, however fleeting, is all we have.

Prisoner of the past or pioneer of the future.  Whatever choice, we hurtle forward regardless.

It was a picnic bench.  A little faded, a little worn, it didn't matter... for that is where they sat.  He filled with the charge, the energy, what would happen next.  She was so close.  She waited.  She longed.  He waited.  He longed.  Where were they?  Did it really matter?  For to the two the world had collapsed into merely the one to the other.  Nothing else mattered.

Nothing Else.

Energy static had so built, between the two.  Kinetic forms longing for release.  The fire did nothing but burned even higher within.  Her thigh... so close.  The form... her perfection... so close.  So close.  So... close.  Heaven... so close... so far.  All it would take was a move.  A press.  All the while, the fire burned.  So hot.  So fierce.  In the inferno he longed to be lost, if only... if only she would accept.

Laughter.  He joked.  She laughed.  It only stoked the fire higher.  How he desperately burned.  Little did her know she desperately smoldered as well.  She longed to feel his touch, his rise, his press, against her.  So... close.  Using the cover... he moved closer.  Bodies seperated by a space infinitesimal... yet ... so distant.  The hard against her soft.  His push unrelenting.  The two; made one... if only... if only.

  He had tasted her burning fruits of passion only the week before.  Should he long for the heaven found in her kiss?  Would she accept?  Would he fail?  The price was too great.  The risk of rejection too high.  But the reward... to be lost in glory... it was too sublime.  Heat, slow burning built in her lips.  He looked, at something, anything, in the distance.  For courage, to build.  Would she want?  Did she?

Meanwhile, heat... rising from its ember earlier in the night... had gown into a fire unquenchable.  The longing... the desperation... so close... so far.  Meanwhile the present, by friction caught, slipped in staccato into the past.  Longing... burning to emerge...

into the celebration.

He must... he thought... turn and draw with a burning touch along the side of her jaw... so strong... so wanting... so waiting.  The snap of a burn electric with a contact crating  the perpetual burning energy... the draw along the jaw.   Pulling toward... as his head pushed in... to taste... to be lost... in the inferno... of the passion.  Shared unabashed.  Building.  Touches... building.  Desire... building .  Hair pulled... building.  Neck devoured... building.  Hand seeking hidden places... building.

Love...

building.

Hope...

building.

For a moment...

the world collapsed into the two.

And that is all that mattered.

Hope. 

Don't give a damn bout my reputation

Holli Would Dance

She would wait
between the sips
Of a goose
So grey

She would show
She would prey

A moments dissolution
From the confusion
Of any anybody else
She thought of him
The desperate
moments
Of dissolution
From the confusion
Of when life was pure

Love
For sure

But she ran
Bless her

The confines
of one who finds
Her dalliance
Approach
acceptable

She surrendered so much
Sacrificed for the touch
Of antoher

As long as she was above
Them
In control
Them
For in the end
Love isn't about sex
It''s about power

To the powerless
'
Pitiful

Until you see
You will wanderer
Endless
As a Waif
Way to go

You hold the power
Unless
you journey
To
"What the fuck
are you doing here"

Way to go!
Feel your power
Start the slide
That none will know
across the side
Where fabric
Meets
The hip
The loss
For the moment
In extacy

If its me
Or someone
Else
Or even
The other
The fiddle
The faddle
Feel good
Amoungst the legion
to replace
The one sent
To replace
The others that come between

Salad
Take another sip
Another touch
and you will be
Complete

Salud

Renaissance

STING & CHEB MAMI - DESERT ROSE

The renaissance.  Its to be celebrated... after it is over.  The rebirth, the rejoice, the new life born, celebrated by all who don't have to endure... to go through the pain of the renaissance.  The strive to be born anew.  The exhaustion, the pain, of emerging though the birth canal.

The hair producing a half hidden face.  Always something would remain half hidden.  The bending to reveal, followed by the soft tug pulling up.  Did he notice?  Was the soft passing moment of reveal catch his eye?  Her smile was suppoed to cover her insecurity.

Did she know, his desire burning, to run his hand across her thigh.  So close, so far, To touch... to know... to feel... to anything.  Before he could, she moved.  Just a hint away, but always away.  Was it a beacon calling him forth, or a fence pushing him away.  Movements in the lands of shadow he never saw.

The rain: would it pour in a deluge, or would it refrain-holding back the gift of life.

She laughed.  Energy static shot from her lips.  Her eyes burning pools of desire,  So fierce that the retreat or advance was lost in the precious fire.  The sudden shift towards... what did it mean?  The silent delight, the silent death.  The not knowing.

So is the renaissance... forever crawling toward the light. 

Exhausting step...

followed by exhausting step...

Continued marching towards the light.

Sweet Dream

Beyoncé - Sweet Dreams (Steamweaer Club Mix) (Vj Dymmy More FT. Vj Leonardo Videro RMX)

She waited. Her legs softly parted, warmed from a night of his gentle caress along the soft supple of her inner thigh. The laugh.  The gentle squeeze.  Each movemnt, touching, softly building the excitement.  She was ready.  She longed to feel his touch rise,higher,forever higher.  But when...when would her guilty pleasure come to fruition.  Her moves forward, when would... when would he respond.

Her twist, her tear, he saw it all.  He let the passion build.  Soft signals she would recieve.  All the while, the passion within him was rising, was building.  His glancing touch.  She would konw that his passion built until it could no longer bear the pressure.  The bud that so desperately longed to bloom into a flower, consuming, raging, in its beauty, none could deny.

So it was.  The touch, the kiss, each drawing forth from her the animal... the primal.  The glance the drawing forth passion form the gentle, beautiful, all too often ignored underside that he would explore.  His lips meanwhile, in kisses filled with passion, would consume.

She wanted.  She longed.  Her eyes half closed provided witness.  She was lost in a maelstrom of passion.  Her touches burning sought out his shape, his form, that which pressed against.

His hands caught, lingered, on that which made her so separate from him.  The soft, the round, the supple.   The curves where he lost himself, only to find a burning primal heat.  His desire, so longing, so waiting, so burning to come, to become one with the target of his desire... to melt in her heat. to become one... in her heat.  To return to the primal... in her heat.  To reenter the garden of Eden... in her... to become one. In the burn, to somehow return, to the primeval.

Sweet Dream.

Crazy

Clarence Bekker (playing for change): Crazy

To start
To begin
Where exactly am I in
The middle of
The ending of
That
Which haunts
The game
For her
Little more
Than such
Just a game
To laugh
Is so much easier
Than to cry
Than to try
Just one more
One more
To break though
The fortress built
Around your soul
Crazy
Such is love
The giving of
The surrender of
On something
Built
Wings of gossamer
Amazing to fly
If one even dares try
To raise ramshackle contraption
If only for moments
Fleeting
Rishing
Above the earth

But to rise
Momentary moments
Almost frozen
Free
From the earth

The life
In the short span
Make the life
Without
Complete
In a way