Tag Archives: #sex

Stop thinking it’s all about you,

or your lover, because as much as it resembles others, it is just the imaginings in my head. This is my absolute truth:

Man Less of Me: http://wp.me/p57Qci-2p

It was written long before I even knew the name of any particular anyone who might think it’s all about them. I know haters are gonna hate, but I will just try my best to send out love, and my honest truth, as I wouldn’t want anything, for anyone(even haters), any other way.  I love to write, to straighten out my head, imaginations, subconscious, flaws and all, spilling into new realizations, for myself – Not anyone else.

Love, ME

 

 

darkness attracts light

I see you in your darkness feel you there

touch me here, take my hand

come with me step into my light

you only know the conditions which must be

met me at the line of woods me taking yours

a fire wood lit by me to travel

through your fire i can step

if you want me take my hand

come with me

step into the light

your hands and mouth open

do you want to come?

i woke to your falling back darkness pleasure i felt

i can hold you keep you there

down upon your bed

hurry go slow i will pack the gear in the light of day we’ll know

don’t cry it’s ok too taking more my hand in yours you’ve shown me

you can touch me taste me in the dark your name

alone on me my more lighting the way

our fires stoking heat between us dark and light

are you scared, i am not

can you taste me feel me my ecstasy is worth great wanting

i will not unless you know

take my hand

come with me

step into the light

 

i have felt a separation

a seeming slight stopping of the heart tearing me

a pulse into another dimension light though i think but

no less scary than death i wonder

what it is?

it happens in the night as sleep is trying to come more

also in the day sitting, but less now

the whole earth feels like it moves ever so slight a blur

i think it is like your demons telling death mind sick

pulling me into the light

my comfortable spot

biting my lip and

kissing the tears from my cheeks the

weight of your body relaxes into mine

i am sleeping bare

waiting for you to crawl

in under the covers with me

one night real someday again

your dreams will wake me gently from

my comfortable spot

Feel me

Do you feel me that

a earthquake damn break rivers

rushing hot breathing

deeply moons phasing curling

toes fingers grasping

need more

 

Do you feel me in

your every step waking

in the rain misting pouring

on my skin dripping

damp your pours need me

 

falling catching pitching us

now hurry slowly touch too

rain ending sunshine

coming up now night happy

 

Hear me singing my

breath your name in me for eve

of dawn is coming stop it

let me stay forever more

Honesty and Neigh-Neigh-lover helps

I’ve got to be honest, i just don’t get it, you. Why can’t my husband just talk to me about his feelings honestly, reveal his true self? At least to just me, I mean, if he is not talking to his wife, who is he talking to? I guess this is my essential problem in my marriage, we are not living, or more precisely loving, honestly. Do you love honestly? I have reached a point when it is too difficult to live any other way.

 

Unless, if I really try hard to be happy, be who you want me to be, I could be yours. What character would you have me play? What type of words do you like to hear? Knowing exactly where I stand, your hand on me and looking into my eyes telling me, how should I be, feel, taste nothing sounds good unless you give me your words to feel first. I really am new at this, clueless really…

 

“Ok,” he finally said under pressure, “I will leave,” the fear came up through my body and I grabbed my yoga mat making my way to the door. Be calm, calm, calm my heart. He was yelling at me about his time, how he works so hard for the family and i do nothing but lay in bed all day. He used to call me names about the way I looked, belittle me about my abilities as a mother, until I finally got a job I was happy with… Dear god, I have become my grandmother, abused by a sociopath, but I loved my grandfather, and I lost my job. “Fine, instead of writing and meditating all day start doing it, dividing our assets!” shaking his fist at the minivan, me in reverse, as if there is anything to divide. But my real fear is that he has been stashing things away in his own name, i wonder for how long, and if his mother is involved.

 

I want to say “You can stay in the other room as long as you can be kind,” but instead my words just keep prodding, telling him to just tell me the truth. Not that I want to hear about whether he actually had sex with her, how many times, where, but maybe just a little. The last time this happened, when he finally broke and realized I really did know, we had the best, most emotionally unattached sex ever; and cried, and saw a therapist who convinced me that we really could forgive and live in love together. I went against my better judgement.

 

For too long, I didn’t listen, want to know the truth; but why didn’t you just tell me. Why couldn’t you have the strength to say real words. I guess I remember once you pouting about all sad, listening to me crying and feeling so alone beside you at night, not touching me. The next morning I drove out to your bike race in the vineyards above Napa, and you coyishly talked about your dreams for a new road bike; it’s what all the guys are riding, upgraded to all dura ace. I should’ve instead bought more bubbles from Domaine Chandon, another case or two, sharing it with the real men who rode all over those caves. I wonder how they make it, love, the wine.

 

I was on top for the next few years, and I wanted children, times were good, we were happy i thought. Still, I felt a hesitation. Why didn’t I listen to that voice inside my head, why didn’t I believe you, my own fucking heart.

 

Break the house in two, like the Roses did, I can see how it happens now, so sad. Is it all about power and control, do you think? But what I really need to say, (or perhaps neigh-neigh friend can tell her husband words to sooth mine’s mind and restless soul) is that we need to remove him from the title, pool all our resources, and when we are ready we can qualify for some sort of moderate-income housing, in his name, of course. But where we can both, BOTH and not together, go to when we are not with the kids. It doesn’t have to be big, a little pied-de-terre, if you will. It could even be a nice walking area of town… I know I am getting ahead of myself again, I am so bad about that, but I think we need to be on a happy path, bright future for our kids; DO NOT divide and conquer each other, ourselves, our children’s hearts… if I could just find the words between the argument, between us. Must I seduce you into agreement? Use my mystical powers of persuasion? I fear yours maybe too rough.

and OTHER Four letter words

How do you make love? I mean really, how do you make it, plant it, grow it, blend it, refine it, touch it, find it? Do you use your hands, your heart, your mind or money? Or do you resort to force and fear, firm principles passed down from fathers before? A little of everything, perhaps, diversity is your spice of life, your own special terroir? I think men learn, from society and culture, to use money, don’t you, more than anything else? I mean, not just to buy women in the oldest profession, but as a way to attract that supreme female, the Alpha if you will, one who can never be too skinny or too rich, or too French.

Speaking French, kissing, making wine, love, desire, more, to make it, refine it, taste it, drink it, even to share it.

So, how do you do it? All of it, or nothing? A little here, a little there? upside down, yogi-style, deep breathing, really feeling; or slowly touching, maybe alone? Actually, I don’t really mean physically, between a man and a woman. We all know how the birds and the bees work magic with mother nature.

I think you might be really traditional, thinking you are debonair, suave, smooth with the ladies. Do you think it is all in the head, or the heart? Do your words, specially in the beginning of the relationship, make all the difference? Or is it another physical characteristic, are you a real gentleman? Like the growing of grapes, and the prepping of soil, the pruning of vines. Or is it all in the waiting, the tempting residue white on the skin, that tells you exactly when to apply a little more push, a bit more muscle, quads in tall boots stomping on grapes?

 

“A little too personal, and all, I know; but how do you do it” is all that I am asking, in the art of making WINE, in Santa Barbara. How are they the same and different? I ask myself as I decide which route to take to the beach. The long way by the bike path, or shorter along the old highway, either way it would take us through the old lemon groves. You wouldn’t want to walk barefoot for fear of the thorns, and I am a little too edgy, but we’d take off our shoes at the sand and laugh.