love, yoga, sailing, photography, sex, music, wine, automobiles, art, architecture, design, literature, coffee, not necessarily in that order
i miss the weight of my man
the warmth of his skin as his molds into mine
how he gently pulls the hair at the nape of my neck when he kisses me, and then pulls harder when…
the slight salt of his skin on my tongue and lips, his taste
when he traces my features with his fingertips, learns my textures
and goddamn his eyes, he sees my soul
i miss the weight of my man
@2 weeks ago with 2 notesHe had green eyes,
so I wanted to sleep with him—
green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool—
You could drown in those eyes, I said.
The fact of his pulse,
the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire
not to disturb the air around him.
Everyone could see the way his muscles worked,
the way we look like animals,
his skin barely keeping him inside.
I wanted to take him home
and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his
like a crash test car.
I wanted to be wanted and he was
very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving.
You could drown in those eyes, I said,
so it’s summer, so it’s suicide,
so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.
- From “Little Beast” by Richard Siken
@11 months ago with 1 noteyour lips
issuing nothing but profanities
and swollen from biting in attempts
to keep them shut
open them i beg of you
fill my ears with all those words
fill my mouth with the heat of yours
fill me with your passion
i miss the weight of my man
the warmth of his skin as his molds into mine
how he gently pulls the hair at the nape of my neck when he kisses me, and then pulls harder when…
the slight salt of his skin on my tongue and lips, his taste
when he traces my features with his fingertips, learns my textures
and goddamn his eyes, he sees my soul
i miss the weight of my man
your lips
issuing nothing but profanities
and swollen from biting in attempts
to keep them shut
open them i beg of you
fill my ears with all those words
fill my mouth with the heat of yours
fill me with your passion
He had green eyes,
so I wanted to sleep with him—
green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool—
You could drown in those eyes, I said.
The fact of his pulse,
the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire
not to disturb the air around him.
Everyone could see the way his muscles worked,
the way we look like animals,
his skin barely keeping him inside.
I wanted to take him home
and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his
like a crash test car.
I wanted to be wanted and he was
very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving.
You could drown in those eyes, I said,
so it’s summer, so it’s suicide,
so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.
- From “Little Beast” by Richard Siken
