I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
~ Edgar Allen Poe
“To be alive is to be burning.”
“The insane do not share the normal prejudice in favor of external reality.”
-Norman O. Brown
- To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.
- Bertrand Russell, Marriage and Morals (1929) ch. 19
British author, mathematician, & philosopher (1872 – 1970)
I recall you taste of cherries, burnished by the sun, steeped in honey and lemon.
Open your mouth. Let me taste you again.
Your tongue-a smooth hard tangerine drop for me to suck.
Let me dig my fingers into the hard bones of your hips, to release the nectar hidden within you.
Press your sugar-coated hands to my breasts and knead my softness, until the heat coming from me turns them sticky.
Put your thumbs to my lips, let me lick them clean.
Let me kneel before you.
Wrap your sticky fingers in my hair, as I use my mouth to make your eyes roll shut.
I see the veins etched in your neck, as you tumble down the waterfall of caramel dreams.
Warm hot butterscotch down my throat, coating the heart of me.
You are not here.
How can I go to my rest, without the gentle passing of your lips over mine?
The soft satin over your lips, slipping along my heated cheeks and down my chin, while your cock burrows deep inside of me.
By the candlelight, you embrace me. Enter me.
Turning my head to the wall. Looking at our shapes, they way we block light.
A beastly form, double heads. Waving arms. Thrusting pelvis. Thighs spread. Backs moving at a piston speed. Tits bouncing. Nutsac swinging frantically.
Throwing shapes, as we grind our way to completion.
The candle sputters, leaving us in darkness. Wax cools, hardens.
Hotter and hotter is our skin, the sweat sizzling as it falls.
Our screams bounce off the wall, where our shadows have been dissolved.
The drive over is quiet, only a few souls slipping past in the dark.
Headlights sliding over you. Wheels crossing the damp streets.
They may as well be shadows, for all you care.
Your mind is full of me. My skin, my form.
~
A soft slight jingle of the keys, as you let yourself in.
Snap goes the door latch, closing.
Creak is the sound of your steps, crossing the gleaming floor boards.
The door whisks as it glides open across the carpet.
Your heart catches with a click in your throat, as you see me, turn on the bed.
My breath settles softly around me. Yours is slowly escaping your flared nostrils-steam under slow pressure, seeking release.
Whirr is your zipper descending, followed by your belt buckle hitting the floor.
Faster than the moonlight falling through the window, you are naked.
A bead of sweat trickles down your strong back.
How many times has my tongue traced that same path?
~
The springs moan gently as your weight settles on the bed, as you creep into position.
Your cock is so erect, you hear it throbbing and wonder how the thunderous noise does not startle me awake.
Slowly, ever so slowly, you pull the thin blue sheet down. Exposing my firm smooth splayed thighs.
Yet you do not let your eyes linger, or your fingertips.
Your eager tongue reaches in, tastes the warm moisture.
The bud awakens, which pushes my eyelids up.
I know your scent, you shape.
I open my legs wider, as your fingers spread my labia, allowing my clit to be enveloped by your soft lips.
My hair makes a buttery sound, as it hits the pillow in time with my tossing head.
Sharp and quick, I come.
Just as fast, you come into me. Sinking down to your base, grinding the root of your tree into my soil.
~
Digging into me, I hear the slap of your slippery skin, the squelch of your cock jabbing in and out. The wet panting our breath mingling in the cool night air streaming through the open window.
The bed groans and shudders with us, as we spiral over the edge and drop into the abyss of incoherence.
We hit bottom.
~
Leaving me there, you regain sanity.
Dressing, walking.
Closing the door behind you.
Anchored by the keys in your hand, the only thing that keeps you from floating off into the star-bright sky.
Your voice, the thread that I follow that guides me out of a sound sleep. Grasping it with closed eyes, I will my body to rise, to follow where you lead.
Lying next to you, head nestled upon your chest, I look up. I want to see what you see, even as my sleepy eyes seek to close again-this time with the pleasure of your lithe right fingers in my hair and your left ones lazily brushing my nipples to awareness.
25 light years away is Vega, softly winking. My back arches, my thighs part. I imagine that I am floating with you in Lyra. I vibrate in time with the strings of the harp.
16 light years from now is Altair, rotating rapidly. Your weight settles upon me, pulling my mind into Aquila. Like the flying eagle, you have descended. Pierce me with your talons and show me the moonlight captured in your eyes.
440 parsecs from here to there lies Deneb-blazing bright. You sweep me away, until I am at the tail end, dazzled and breathless. No more graceful flight has ever been executed. I am the swan that receives you, not able to shy away. Make me gentle, docile. Calm me.
The bridge is crossed and we are united. Yet the earth beneath us shifts, causing us to drift onto a new course, ever so slowly.
She started it. -L
****
The Beast rages. In you and others. Like the mighty Roman army, like the primeval forces, it is Legion. Multiple consciousness, single intent: possession and violation.
The monster. Basilisk. Orthrus. Ladon. Minotaur; boxed in.
Flee from me, Leviathan. Manticore, you riddles shall not ensnare me. Tower above me Kraken and find you will only grip the air where I once was.
Unlike the grass under the blades, I will not submit to being cut down, whittled to my quick. I will not lie still and ask urgently to be trampled.
Rather, reach out and run your cold fingers up my stem and rip your flesh on my thorns. The tears sting no less than your misplaced pride.
“You are merely the girl I am furnishing. Yes, of course, I’ll be there. Now run along.” -Story of O, p.5
*
I hold no misty love of sadists, dominants, masters, rulers, owners. I do not dream of the yoke, the tether, the leash, the rope. Or the lash.
My deepest desire is not to be the furrowed row. Soiling breaking before the plow.
Forewarned is forearmed. Watching intently their progress, I learn their habits. I plan my escape route and nurse my eventual insurrection.
For The Beast is always ravenous, always hungering, always looking for new fields to despoil. Desecration excites it. Tears from sad eyes and blood oozing from violated holes are to it as what rain is to roses.
“Using the familiar tu form of address, he told her not to move and told the women to hurry.” Ibid, p.8.
*
Know this: wily is the the Beast. Often it slumbers, appears tame and small. Pet it and watch it unfold, snarl and handily devour your mind. Your moist flesh is the dessert.Your cries are the finger bowl which only serves to clean it’s claws before it reaches out again.
It will neatly pick it’s teeth with your rib bones and then yawn, already eyeing the next piece of juicy prey. Surely you did not think to tame the wolf, ride the boar, own the falcon. Then hardly are you equipped to satisfy the Beast. For it will consume and consume until even the world itself is is a memory.
“Then one of the men gripped her buttocks and sank himself into her womb. When he was done, he yielded his place to a second. The third wanted to force his way into a narrower passage, and driving hard, wrenched a scream from her lips.” -Ibid, p.10
*
Tell me to kneel. I walk away. Grab me. I pull away. Hold me. I shake you off.
My refusal causes you to salivate.The defiant tilt of my head is the whetstone upon which your cock sharpens. When I press my lips together in denial of you, your nutsac tightens in a strange sympathy. I do not believe you want me personally, Beast. You only want to Destroy.
Leaving ruin in your wake, ashes that are so fine, even the winds cannot hold them aloft.
“All four had taken her and she had not been able to distinguish him from the others.” -Ibid, p. 11
*
Tie me and I will chew through my binding. Chain me and I will work constantly, even if raw and chafed, to slip out. I will not offer my self to your immolation fire.
Persist and break me, to find me hollow, empty, all my essence flown away.
Do not take a different tack–one of tenderness and honey. Your sweet words, are only food for flies and maggots. It is your nature to lie, as you are the Beast. And I am Truth-my Truth. I know you have no way to love me, for you have no love within you.
“This pain will enforce upon you the idea that you are subject to restraint and to teach you that you belong completely to something that is apart and outside of yourself.” -Ibid, p17
*
If you manage to corral me, pass me on to your minions and upon your return, find that their now-lifeless eyes will not give you an answer. Only the dark sticky blood smeared upon my teeth and hands will tell the tale.
“The three men who were smoking commented on her movements, on the way her mouth closed and worked at the sex it had seized and along whose length it moved rhythmically back and forth, on the tears that came to her eyes every time the swollen member struck the back of her throat and made her choke, to shudder as though from an imminent nausea. It was with her mouth still half-gagged by the hardened flesh that filled it that she murmured again the words: ‘I love you.’ “ -Ibid, p.19
*
Do not think to brand my ass. Do not hope pierce my cunt lips with a ring bearing your name.
I reject you. I cast you out, back into the abyss that is your home. Get thee not behind, but far away from me, Beast. Leave the vessel which you have falsely claimed.
*
Open your eyes, my love. In my arms, you return. You are a clean house, not to be filled again.
Hyperion, I name you. Call me in return Theia. Then I will receive you like a god and take you as my sacrament.
Love defeats the lies, slays the beast.
Wanting to rest my face in the crook of your neck. Feel your hair whip around my face, the soft curtain that lulls me into a theta state that pulls me deeper.
Align my universe.
Then the fleshy blade that cuts my butter will rip me out of the dream-which only is the prefix to the stem of you.
When you call, I do not come. But I will, eventually.
Like that silky-haired stray that scratched at your door, all through your time at University.
Your hands are seeking my hips but only close around air.
Your teeth are grinding together, wishing my nipples were caught between instead of nothing.
Warmth from my body does not reach you, for when you turn towards me, all you have is a cool pillow, a place where I once was. A shadow settling in the dark, stirred by your breath.
I am leaving when you arrive. Not staying nearly long enough when I appear.
Running off, not leaving a note. Leaving you to guess.
You talk, I say nothing. I talk, expect no answer in return, for those brief bursts have no need of consent.
When you want my lips, you see my lipstick-stained tissues, tossed to the floor in the bathroom, floating memories of when you wiped my lips clean with your tongue.
My scent lingers on my robe left hanging on your closet and in my panties tossed carelessly away.
You sigh as your nostrils wonder when they will be greeted by the curling heat of your bath, with me soaking within.
My hair is bound to my head, a tight coil when you want it to be free for your fingers to twist and tangle. Yet other times, I walk around with a tangled nest that you are itching to comb.
Why do you want me?
I do not cook for you, wash your clothes, straighten your untidy dresser drawers. Nor do I chase you with your keys.
Stepping over the mail pooling by your door, I grab the paper from the pile, on my way to make tea and eat honey by the spoonful. In your clean kitchen that was not cleaned by me.
Not going to have your baby, make a home for you, give any of my life to keep you anchored to this earth one moment more than your fated strand.
What good am I to you?
Is it my arrogant assumption that you will be there, that keeps you…there?
Or is it that when I am there, it is more than any other woman’s here?
Rough, hot, tangy, sweet.
Pounding, sweaty, burning, grinding.
Fulfilling.
The good I am for you-to you…
You know.
Run your fingers up my things, my skirt giving way to your forearms. Your eyes slowly closing to half-mast, you lips dripping with honeyed flashes of your thoughts right up to this moment.
Slide a finger into me, as the voice tumbles from the radio, wrapping us in the ticker tape of things we need but cannot control. The percentage points, fall of the index, rise of the fund, the quarterly earnings.
I sigh as your fingers reach in further. You swap my tension for pleasure, betting on the future soon to be mature that I will melt, flow away. Profit from my give, not your take.
Differentiate my demand. Push me back, those slips of papers, coded with data that signals the rise and fall of society, spilling out of your briefcase on the carpeted floor.
Nonstop goes the voices, the dings and chirps, the exclamations from the voice , joined by others on the radio. Jumping accents, skipping time zones, they all speak of the same thing.
Make that thing, the chasing of that thing, your fulcrum. Lift me from here to there, right there, where nothing matters but the way I feel.
The way you cause me to feel.
Underlying all of this is the pressure that builds, to stokes you, propels you between my thighs and into the heart of me. There is never a risk that you will not satisfy the obligation that you promised me the day we met.
Fuck me, here. Amidst the carnage, you extract the viable and precious metal. Trade what I need for what you want.
Condense the hours into rough minutes, as somewhere, a man rises with the flight of the sun, joining a flood of similar minds, to do battle with the monster that is never full.
Kick at the briefcase full of promises of dreams, let those wisps of what will be flutter away to what is.
What that is:you inside of me, plunging, extracting and filling, pushing for the final closing of your day.
Exchange the the heat for the coolness of release.
There, you fall and rest. Like the end of the day numbers.
The sounds of cars gliding past penetrate the smoked evening air, as your sweat, salty and tangy, provides a slick glaze along your spine.
Fingers brushing your ears, I softly sing your favorite song.
And the voices still run over and around us. Testament to the edifice that you never can avoid or truly scale.
Count them-those voices- like sheep my darling, as you surrender to your loss against the monster.
Yet you conquered me.
As always.
