is this an ancient line of poetry,
delicate beauty
unwinding in a complex rhythm,
intertwining our souls?
or the residue of
old dysfunction,
rationalized by invisible needs
buried deep in the recesses of
our psyches?
and after all,
perhaps they’re just
the same thing.
pushing and pulling at us.
at each other.
we spin against one another,
helpless.
the same.
perhaps poetry was invented
for people like you and i
somehow my metaphors
tread lightly,
slip by your defenses
and snuggle up softly around
your heart..
my spoken words,
an arrow through
your beautiful,
trembling soul.
how did you know
just the place to touch me
hardening with my moans
sucking at my lips
as though i was the
last source of your oxygen?
i was perusing elephant journal this morning and came across this rebecca lammersen article on making unknowable love. i felt the excitement of finding connection– finding someone who has described something of my experience. it’s a beautiful article and description of deeply connected, magical love-making… the kind of experiences i’ve finally found after years of searching.
a perfect sunday morning read. xo
fuck me until i break
until your mouth
inhales my screams
and this emptiness inside of me
folds in on itself
fuck me like you don’t care
like i have the strength
of a thousand goddesses
like i am
unbreakable
fuck me.
throw me.
restrain me.
slap me.
put me where you
want me
and take me.
take me.
for all the times i said no
for all the moments my voice was silenced
for each lewd look and whistle
for all the power that was taken from me
and for the darkness inside of me…
this time i speak
and you hear me.
this time
i say yes.
i close my eyes
and you are with me
wrapped in your arms
embraced by your love…
i am home.
—-
baby you are my
ethereal body
love me
until
i explode
a cosmic sunset
of color and vibrations
your very own
supernova.
as it happened
you were the one to
implode me
they say we never learn
but now i know
to always let the
sweet syrupy juices
pool and gather
marinate in their sugary goodness
be present
feel gratitude for each moment
of messy love
that we have.
when your skin touches my skin
warmth floods my heart
and body
when your fingers
interlace
with mine…
my defenses are overcome
and i am
shocked
at the depth
the untouched places inside me
that i feel you moving into
[quote from wikipedia]
La petite mort, French for “the little death”, is an idiom and euphemism for orgasm. This term has generally been interpreted to describe the post-orgasmic state of unconsciousness that some people have after having some sexual experiences.
More widely, it can refer to the spiritual release that comes with orgasm or to a short period of melancholy or transcendence as a result of the expenditure of the “life force,” the feeling which is caused by the release of oxytocin in the brain after the occurrence of orgasm.
i have been captivated by this term/phrasing for orgasm since i first learned of it. i think this is so perfectly on point… capturing the complexity of the varying emotions that give meaning to our unique experience of orgasm… the seemingly impossible combination of utter loss and ecstasy that i feel each time i come.
trembling over my skin
coursing through my blood
my cries quivering, hovering…
you send rushes of sensation
up and down my spine
my body yearns, demands to burst out of its casings
releasing this vast ocean of energy,
soaring through the sky…
then laying softly, quietly
skin against skin
our breath intermingling
floating in the creative wonder
of this love