WILD AT HEART, INDEED

It’s extremely odd
That in the fastest passing of a month
That one can remember
When all that is really recalled
Is your name
And the ever changing
Glorious look of you across the room
In her arms
Or her arms
In my arms
In your chair
In your element
Surrounded by your things
Your glow
Tarnished light all soft and asking
You being loved
Soft
Hard
Fast
Slowly
All eyes on you, baby
All hands on deck
It being “let’s Please Mary Week”
It being 6 a.m. in the morning
Half-way through
A marathon of six hands playing tootsie
Three hearts playing tag
Across one furry white carpet
An old wobbly cat perched on her back
As she strokes warm, hard meat with one hand
Fingers, again, your wet shivering gash with the other
Open and beckoning her in
The three of us piled neatly
Enveloping the objects of our desires
The shadows of our smiles
The sources of our panting breath
Our slavishly pounding hearts.
Surrounded
Smothered by the love
You can’t utter
But can’t but help to see
Can’t help to feel
Coming at you from all sides
Arms entwined
Palms on breasts
Foreheads
Thighs
Cunts and cock
Asses and bellies and lips and tongues
Dimples all smiles we all are
Sly, ravenous, rapturous smiles akimbo
What next?
What next?
No one dare ask allowed for to break the spell
The flow
The certainty that all rises at its own pace
Its own level of comfort
And comfort
Ease of deliberation
Simplicity of emotive
Synchronous
Drive
The elemental coming together of three
Count ‘em
Three adventurous souls
Passionate care
For each others sweet spots
Soft spots
Smoldering hot spots
Just part of the glimmering dew,
Embrace of the goodness
The sharing
The skin-on-skin
Jealousy breakdown
Jettisoned
Along with the angst and the time
That passes clandestinely behind the curtains
Separating all of this heat
From the dawning of the outside world.

JNREAJKGALKJRBDV

I am so fucking exhilarated, frustrated, discombobulated I can’t tell you. I feel like I keep walking into walls that bend when my face hits them and I look at the imprint and the face staring back is yours. I want to touch, kiss, caress, spank, whip, suck, eat, bite, watch, smell, wax, hold, lick, fuck, rim, rape, cum on, piss on, tie up, fondle, surprise, kidnap, pinch, worship, spoil…YOU and be touched, kissed, caressed, spanked, whipped, sucked, eaten, bitten, waxed, held, licked, fucked, rimmed, raped, cum’d upon, pissed on, tied up, fondled, surprised, kidnapped, pinched, worshipped, spoiled…BY YOU. I want to sit across from you naked and not say a word until we both jump out of our skin and into a bucket next to the bed where our genetic slipstream coagulates into something not even I could resist on a tortilla.

It is like having the best Halloween outfit EVER and it pours rain, you have a cold, there’s a crime wave in your neighborhood and you aren’t allowed to trick OR treat or even go outside until next year when your outfit probably won’t fit you anymore.

BUT…I’m being calm…I’m accepting…meditating on my current moment…patient…enjoying the view from here…trying ever so hard not to stare at you, drooling like the dawg-boy I am…but when I do, I see me, but with better tits and much less hair…trying so incredibly hard to keep these enamored fantasies at bay, so close I can taste them but as distant as lightning flashing over the desert 30 miles away...trying to figure that it could be worse…I could be 3000 miles away sitting, cock in hand, wondering and dreaming…but perhaps that’s easier…trying to ignore the clock that ticks louder with each passing moment and thinking…'was life always this fucking ridiculous?'

Anyone ever put a piece of chocolate under your nose, touched it to your lips and then popped it into their mouth with a sly snicker…maybe even gave you a little kiss after slowly swirling that melting, heavenly ooze across their tongue and swallowing it down? And though you smell it, taste it, you want more...you wish you could’ve swallowed it whole when you had the chance.

Not envy, or jealousy of that piece of chocolate or that tongue…no, sheer unadulterated desire. And me, I luxuriate in the idea that each moment and conversation and thought of you is part of the process of discovery…your tongue in my ear, trying to break thru and suck on some succulent piece my mind; my fingers inside you, trying to reach up into your heart and feel its pulse racing in time with my own; our skin damp together trying to find out what makes these so like-minded souls, so fucking connected and unreachable at the same time. Just like our own selves are to us, touchable but just out of reach. We, who think we are closer than most in knowing ourselves, knowing who we really are and then, reflected in each other, we see radiant, sometimes enlightening, sometimes jarring bits, shards, and mirrored reflections of ourselves and want to know more.

You once said, “I think with you and I it would always just be about sex.” If that’s true, then I’ve fallen through some other kind of dream where words are colors and sounds taste blue and in that parallel universe all is explainable and all answers are mine to give. Oops. No deal. And at times I think, "Did I come 3000 miles to know less than I did before? To find freedom and temptation and impatience are all just the saw blade carving pieces out of the same jigsaw puzzle of daily existence or did I come out here just to get kinky or are they both slippery funhouse mirror versions of the same thing? Is the tenuous nature of our every waking moment just that simply defined? And perhaps the crapshoot of life is just that--a pre-destined, random slideshow over which there is no control, no rhyme, reason or rational, experiential explanation and an exceedingly incongruous but teasingly seductive soundtrack. “It ain’t why, why, why…it just is” or is it?

I see you on a high dive on the verge of a back flip into a BIG new pool of life and I see that the pool is indeed deep enough, enticing and warm enough and shimmering enough to seduce your desire for the unknown, for the challenge, for the adventure and I just hope you are a strong swimmer for the pool is an impetuous and tempting dream with a strong current. And as you spring up, soar into the air, suspended momentarily in the space between upward motion and downward plunge I want nothing so much as to be that water that envelopes you, that you pierce with your flailing sense of direction, but perhaps I am only destined to be the hot, bronzed lifeguard, package hanging left with one eye on the life preserver and the other on the edge of the pool just beyond which the wavering image of the arrow of your body flashes by…

Goodnight, my sweet muse.

~for Miss Mary, late night letter, written and sent 3:57am. July 11, 2008