Stevie Ray Vaughan - Little Wing
So it was. Jordan softly slid into the night. Eyes closed body arched sublime, to his touch. His feel. The trace along her neck. A gentle bush moving back hair that prevented his gaze along the border so soft, so ripe, so heated. It longed for his touch. Her eyes were closed, but desire was boiling, for his touch. The heated trace, soft, slow burn, across her face. His movements were sure, in a pressing touch.
Slowly he approached the prize of her heated lips burning. Passion boiled out from every pore, as she longed for so much more. His lean. An eternity held in the microseconds pause until he crossed the unbearable distance unseen and placed his lips on hers. The fire only rose. She arched hungrily into him. She longed to devour that which she had so long waited for, to die in his embrace, so that she could be born again. Hands pulled the other close.
Followed by the grind, the arch, soft... slow... burning.
The touch... soft slow... burning.
Each and every contact... soft... slow... burning.
The gentle burning death....
To live again.
As the touches, moves, turned to the primal. In touches responding only to the other, bodies spoke volumes in a language unspoken. In the movements of the night... the two melded into one...
Soft...
Slow...
Burning.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Thursday, November 2, 2017
Gemini
Marvin Gaye - I Want You remix
"It's my hair," she said. She smiled. "I'm going to win." She didn't know. Standing there. Staring there. It was her eyes. It was always her eyes. The passioned captured energy. The turbulent sea underneath the placid appearance of the still blue. She was a Gemini. What imprortance was that? Well, he was Gemini. He knew. The cut of the appearance against the turbulent sea that flowed within. The contradictory, holding balance against all. Perhaps it was earlier.
He had felt her clutch. Her hold. Her press. Her soft, the delight in a moment stolen, her supple rub against his hard. So supple. So welcoming against him. Perhaps longing for the feel, for the return somewhere, somehow, in the darkness. How he longed, for the trace, that which could so easily be forgiven. They had been surrounded in the dark after all. The press. The brush. The draw along the gentle curve. The rising soft slow of her tender rising forth. The building, burning heat in the dark. It could be forgiven just as easily as it could be savored. It was the dark after all.
Yet... he was busy. He had to do. The project above all. Yet she continued to simmer in his periphery. She was beautiful... did she know. Her form perfect topped by the smile so simple... so inviting... so seductive as it promised the refuge within the storm. Eyes that promised shelter from the tempest of life raging. She sent a message... would it be received. All he had ever asked for was the word... proceed. Envelop me. Draw the burn from me. Though they both knew... the fire would consume them both.
They were Gemini.
They could live with the dichotomy. They enjoyed walking the line. So it was. All that awaited was a reason to cross. They would dance on the line. The boundary frozen between desire and the real. Though both knew that reality is little more than a sedating comfort of the mind. A stop check to the next.
"It's my hair," she said. She smiled. "I'm going to win." She didn't know. Standing there. Staring there. It was her eyes. It was always her eyes. The passioned captured energy. The turbulent sea underneath the placid appearance of the still blue. She was a Gemini. What imprortance was that? Well, he was Gemini. He knew. The cut of the appearance against the turbulent sea that flowed within. The contradictory, holding balance against all. Perhaps it was earlier.
He had felt her clutch. Her hold. Her press. Her soft, the delight in a moment stolen, her supple rub against his hard. So supple. So welcoming against him. Perhaps longing for the feel, for the return somewhere, somehow, in the darkness. How he longed, for the trace, that which could so easily be forgiven. They had been surrounded in the dark after all. The press. The brush. The draw along the gentle curve. The rising soft slow of her tender rising forth. The building, burning heat in the dark. It could be forgiven just as easily as it could be savored. It was the dark after all.
Yet... he was busy. He had to do. The project above all. Yet she continued to simmer in his periphery. She was beautiful... did she know. Her form perfect topped by the smile so simple... so inviting... so seductive as it promised the refuge within the storm. Eyes that promised shelter from the tempest of life raging. She sent a message... would it be received. All he had ever asked for was the word... proceed. Envelop me. Draw the burn from me. Though they both knew... the fire would consume them both.
They were Gemini.
They could live with the dichotomy. They enjoyed walking the line. So it was. All that awaited was a reason to cross. They would dance on the line. The boundary frozen between desire and the real. Though both knew that reality is little more than a sedating comfort of the mind. A stop check to the next.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
Allison
ELVIS COSTELLO Alison 1977
(by the way... this song is not about a girl named Allison... read on)
Allison. A song... though beautiful, I swore I would never use. Yet here I am. Perhaps it tells too much. Perhaps it reveals the cuts of the heart, so deep, so critical. Yet I survive, if only to die again.
Such is life.
Where was my writing on Tuesday? Well it was Halloween, that day were those long dead emerge into life. Though bony hands pierce the ground as you walk though the graveyard, sometimes it is best to let the dead lie. Curious how sometimes the dirt that weighs the bodies down is little more than lies from the past. Despite the cry, let the dead lie... life was made for living.
We have all made our choices.In the tales of bones in the boneyard wonders happen. Saints miraculously turn into sinners. sinners turn into saints. What a world. What a glorious world. The dance continues until the circle is complete.
But is the circle ever complete?
...or the dance?
Sleep well.
(by the way... this song is not about a girl named Allison... read on)
Allison. A song... though beautiful, I swore I would never use. Yet here I am. Perhaps it tells too much. Perhaps it reveals the cuts of the heart, so deep, so critical. Yet I survive, if only to die again.
Such is life.
Where was my writing on Tuesday? Well it was Halloween, that day were those long dead emerge into life. Though bony hands pierce the ground as you walk though the graveyard, sometimes it is best to let the dead lie. Curious how sometimes the dirt that weighs the bodies down is little more than lies from the past. Despite the cry, let the dead lie... life was made for living.
We have all made our choices.In the tales of bones in the boneyard wonders happen. Saints miraculously turn into sinners. sinners turn into saints. What a world. What a glorious world. The dance continues until the circle is complete.
But is the circle ever complete?
...or the dance?
Sleep well.
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
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.
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.
Monday, October 16, 2017
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
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
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