Sorting and divvying family photos,
my sister and I find an old envelope.
There’s a picture of mother and father
before they were married,
he’s smiling, his arm around her.

Her face makes us shudder.
It’s the only photo we’ve discovered
where she looks as we remember her.
Rose pushes it away,
but I add it to my pile.

Oh, I really want to tear it up.
But if I do, what of the past?
Her rain of stinging slaps on face and body,
lashing us with dad’s belt after he died,
those caustic remarks that choked us.

Though some say that what endures needs
no pictures, I am left holding this proof
that belongs with all the unhinged,
wild and unmoored parts of the story
that are not known, spoken or heard.

Marina Sanchez

when I say I wanna have sex I don’t mean I wanna get fucked and cum I mean I wanna makeout with someone for half an hour on my couch with grabby hands all over my body and our teeth clashing because we get so into it that we can’t stop kissing, I mean slow desperate, needy grinding on each other before we take it to the bed, bumping our heads, giggling as we take our clothes off, trying to adjust and get into the right position, I mean having someone on top of me and looking up at them to see that blissful little grin on their face before they scrunch it up a lil and moan because it feels sooooo good and I mean making each other cum so good we end up all out of breath, a sweaty, happy mess, fingers still intertwined, my legs still around their waist, making out again, that’s what I want and it would be kinda cool if I could have it now

Mia
Fawnbabe

Words

June 25, 2017

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.

Markus Zusak
The Book Thief

On Both Knees

June 24, 2017

I want your Monday morning
sleep soaked eyes
dream drenched voice,
lazy bones
‘five more minutes please babe.’

I want your Tuesday afternoon
coffee break,
glasses off, laughter on
‘just hold me for a while
it’s been a hard day.’

I want your Wednesday evening
fingers through hair
teeth nibbling nails
neck craning, eye glazing
‘this paperwork never ends’

I want your Thursday night
drinks for two
bones unbind
muscles let loose
flats, slacks,
‘just me and you’

I want your finally Friday
stretch soul smile,
sun sipping light
from the glaciers in your eyes
fingers unfurl, hand extends
‘c’mon babe, lets go wild’

I want your weekend.
your movie marathon Saturday
reading by the fireplace
kissing in the blankets
want your Sunday morning
orange juice and pancakes
white sheets, tender skin
hair like the Fourth of July
‘let’s not get out of bed today.’

I want your ordinary
and your stress, rest, release
I want your bad day and that terrible night
I want you drunk in my arms
forgetting the place but never my name
I want your lazy and your lonely
and your fist full of fight
I want you everyday
in every way
for the rest of my life

Sanam Sheriff

i have fantasies about my sister-in-law. Hmm.. i’d like to finger her slowly, getting her all wet and dripping, taking my time easing more fingers into her until she’s bucking and begging me to fuck her. Then I’d lick her lightly and curl my fingers into her sweet spot and tease her even more until she wheezes and groans “pleasepleasepleaseplease” and then finally i’d put the vibrator in her and fuck her fast and hard until she’s yelling “moremoremore”.

Source

Morning Sex

June 24, 2017

Selfie

June 24, 2017

Thank you for the selfie
I wish you’d move your hand
I want to see your lovely cock
I want to see it stand –

We need to learn to love the flawed, imperfect things that we create and to forgive ourselves for creating them. Regret doesn’t remind us that we did badly. It reminds us that we know we can do better.

Kathryn Schulz
Don’t regret regret

few can escape

June 23, 2017

 

 

The soul of a women is like a book which few are able to read – like the wild ocean it has hidden depths, labyrinthine in complexity, a maze that few can escape.

Peedeel
La casa de muñecas (The house of Dolls)

Before everything is over
I would like to make love to you
the same number of times as a gentleman knocking on a
door that will never open for him.

The same number of times a mirror fails to reflect the spirit
of a ruined man.
The same number of times a young woman
discovers in the middle of a noisy party
that she is alone.

I would like to make love to you like a man
leaning his face from the window of a passenger train to catch
one more look at the one woman he ever
truly adored, but now he must leave behind.

Like a circus performer looking up at a ceiling of trapeze rings,
crazy lights and precarious high wires,
knowing he will never climb that high.

Like a washed up prize fighter reaching for the canvas
because it is his only friend.
Like a bum reaching for a twenty dollar bill
that is blowing across a busy boulevard.

I would like to make love to you
before the passersby pass by
before the falling sun falls out of this world
and into the next, before the brown bear of winter falls
into his magnificent winter slumber.

I would like to make love to you with my forehead
pressed to your naked waist.
with my platelets pulsing in your veins.
With my brain on fire and snow falling on your
hissing flames

I would like to make love to you a hundred times
with the shuddering knowledge of
you, with your frozen smile and untraceable fingertips.
you with your indecipherable dreams.

Because I am doomed to live with you even when I am
without you – you with your incomplete shoulders.
You with your rainbow coloured lips.

You with your empty hands.
Your perfumed silence, your perfect elegance.
You, with the sunlight that leaks out of
your darkness and into my world.

George Wallace