weary whimsy with woven wings
As I sat still watching the pre dawn ocean I knew I wasn’t his fault. I was no ones fault. Maybe I was thinking how I wished I were the lilacs to the intermittent raindrops in his pale blue calm.
heretical heartspells heave hollow hell
I’m truly a small town with a bunch of dirty secrets. I’ve discovered my own list of broken laws and we are in it. I’m hopeful he likes unearthing the dirty because his nails will forever be black and biting as long as he keeps scraping off this skin over and over again. I’ve always called my self the dark spot but maybe I never truly new what light was before.
cordially cardiac chartreuse caressings
His eyes were hard, intense. The way his mouth moved as he described me to a T, right up until he couldn’t. All I kept thinking was that I was a dark spot, or a heavy burden, never anything light. But I was becoming lost in every muscle movement and lip curl, every lick of his tongue and hand movement under his shirt or over my arm. I knew that before long, I would be moving up beside him and being my own distraction, softening his words with my look and my hand on his leg or my fingers on his stomach. Not because I meant to but because I could not stop me.
sensual sins sublimate sated serenity
I had taken his hand in mine and put his palm to my hand as I kissed it and put his finger that had my tears on it deep into my mouth, over my tongue. He stopped mid-sentence as the sun sank deeply in his eyes and there was a tiny twitch of his lip.
feeling feathery fingers fervently fall
His kiss was a fever pitch and I loved every second of its demands on my mouth. Our bodies were intimately damp with love and the season. He writes evocation with his eyes and everything inside me moves. He writes my demons with his teeth and he seals my fate with his tongue and he carves his name into my wrist.
laconically lavishing lackadaisical lulls
Our bodies were intimately damp with love and the season. We were the seas soft secret and I loved our private everything, but we were also the darks deepest pleasure, a thing I’d never deny either of us. Whether it was he or I, maybe us, we lit the depths of our own despairs.
sweet song of supple surrender
Such naked things I told him before I almost didn’t. So he traced my gentle with his fingers and licked the hot coals inside me with his tongue in appreciation and thanks. All accolades go to him and him alone for this girl’s public bloom
EC can weave lace from dryer lint with her deft poetic mind. I am a scooter next to her Porsche, yet she still let’s me pretend to keep up. she is just that great.