Make Me

i told her what to do

and she said

make me

her eyes teased in such a way

that thunder bellowed angrily in

my belly and

between my legs a pulsing wetness

trickled...

her mouth was a flower petal

scented like strawberries and vanilla

an undertone of musk and heady spice

hair spilling over me and hands touching everything but what

needed touching

make me

my head rose to meet lips

that were not as hungry as mine

she was patient

securing nubby flesh between my teeth and

caressing my captive lightly flicking

across its tip

enveloping starry horizons in one gulp

tasting mother earth

through divine openings

bathing

plunging into the core, center

molten flesh and impossibly soft

crevices...

and she cried out

she begged

she wanted to see god

she finally uttered as the last stroke came

make me...

(c) trinity wolf

What Does It Take

What does it take to fuck without reason?

fuck reason;

it's the only thing that doesn't make sense when it comes to cum

I had reason

once

shooting out from between my legs

I had reason

banging me like a piece of meat

slapping time

with a country rhyme

and no one here to dance in line

anymore...

Oh yeah I had my share of partners in crime

but the best was...

the best was....

the ghost,

my demon lover;

He came so unexpectedly that my hips quiver

even now.

strange how in one second, I knew who he was

and he took me

everything

placing his head between my legs

I arched my back and prayed

making no sense, nonsense

speaking in tongues while he did all the talking

it had been so long...

so long...

and he didn't stop licking me up

he didn't stop until I begged

until my legs were off into orbit and

my inner thighs were swimming

only then did he stop to introduce

none too politely

his cock

He went so deep

writhing through my limbs

and I screamed in pain and pleasure

when he took me without a word

but the real slippery slope was after

when he made love to my thoughts

like they were candy and he was

an eager tongue...

he fucked me

raw

like no one ever had

and I lost all reason

I loved him

as my demon lover vaporized

into the night

what does it take to fuck without reason?

it takes no reason at all.

(c) Trinity Wolf

Thousands of Words

Thousands of Words


There are thousands of words in your trilogy

the three distinct parts of you

that melt onto me


The first was like any other

with roiling passion tilting up its head

a hungry lover


you


its soul source of nourishment,

sustenance,

feeding the beast with your heady flow of

silky liquid;

dancing on the tip of my tongue

caressing the crest of my breast

softening the blow into my cunt

a ravaging beast reaching the end

of me



And the middle

more mundane but more tender



undulating hips and eyes that meet

posturing complete;

we now engage in more

than button-flying, panting, erratic

fucking

it's more now...



Which brings us to the final chapter

of the final book of the

final

series

of our long affair of the cock and cunt and heart

the hearts don't make it, sadly,

one of them dies;
and the other rides off
without so much as a
goodbye.



(c) Trinity Wolf

Captivate

You captivated me

with the first stroke

I felt rigid

then soft

couldn't move enough to get it

right

where

I need

it

Then rigid again

finding my center

molten heat draining

between my thighs

cheeks

rough against me

hands smooth inside me

breath

hot against me

make me scream

you captivated me

and you didn't say

a word.

(c) Trinity Wolf

Pole Power

I had myself a good time.

Once again, no one paid no mind as I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

Oh but all of them were jones'n for me

I could tell by the hollow way they breathed as I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

I swirled my hips like honey rags

and made my tits jiggle

like jelly bags

I made my legs wrap around that metal tree and I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

I humped the air in tight

hard thrusts

in front of the face of a bald man's lust

with big ol' pores

and a sweaty chin

I roiled and bumped and made him grin

oh so wide, like he wanna feed...

and he slid them greenbacks on toward me

as I

stripped, danced,

got on my knees

Oh, you're my baby, my only one

can't you see it when your bid is won?

You're my only baby when the dance is done

You're my only sugar,

believe me for once

I feel your hand up and into me soft

and you impale me like a Christian cross

and with only you, baby, I beg, I plead

as I

strip, dance

get on my knees

I

stripped, danced

got on my knees

Them greenbacks sure do feel nice and

after last night you paid me twice

you left it on the bedside, in a crumpled vise

and your side of the bed was as cold as ice.

but I made my way to the dance floor again

and the sweaty man with his sweaty chin

had another prize for me--his key

as I dance, strip

get on my knees.

I never get lonely, I never self-doubt

I known all along what this ol' world's about;

it's about pussy and tongue, coins and fees

as I dance, strip

and get on my knees.

(c) Trinity Wolf

Senses

i'm thinking of you

thinking of me

when i mold myself into clay

and open the door to you

slick, ready and eager

i drink you

i bathe in you

and you bathe in me

like an Earth creature feeling the sun warm

its face in the dawn of spring

your body is hard

lines and muscle, tense, overpowering

my body is malleable

gives to the pressure of your shaft

slapping me

helpless

controlling me

bruising me and I call for more

call out for more

bathe in me

your tongue encircles the places that shine with moisture

copious and moist

ready, hard, soft...

take me inside you as I take you

inside me

let me swim in you

no light or dark or tomorrow

just now

fuck me

and don't care how gentle you are

don't care how rough you are

just take me in such a way that I can't breathe

can't think past Now

i want to have my senses arrested, cuffed

shoved into the back seat of a car with no phone call,

no rights

no privilege

forcibly taken

so that no sight, sound, taste, smell

or touch is mine alone

swim in me

swim on me

because when you leave

the scent of you simmers on me

in me

like a volcano ready to erupt

when i finally get time alone

to conjure you again

and again.

(c) Trinity Wolf

And the Softness

It was so not like her

to be so bold, but then again I was not expecting

the softness of her to feel

so commanding against me;

She was ripened fruit, giving way to the slightest

pressure,

She was an ambivalent stoicism within walls of pillow

clouds--

She was broken

And so was I

but we fixed each other, yes we fixed each other with

honey and glue binding us together within

our thighs.

But there was no core of strength in the way

her tongue trailed along my spine

and found glistening thunder

beneath folds of sky

and only then did I feel the quaking earth

die beneath me,

only then did I feel God...

But God, she said, has nothing at all to do with all of this;

So she was right again, spearing me like something stuck

on a spit,

fingers tasting my insides,

tongue caressing my outsides

on all sides

and I said it again, I called out and prayed to God.

And she smiled and told me that I must only pray now

to gods of love as her hands found my face;

gods of war as her knee nestled snugly between my swollen lips

and the gods of pleasure,

gods of the sea, as she lapped at my slick shores...

and I prayed to them all;

I muttered my prayers and thanked them

for slippery slopes nestled in between and mounds of

flesh to envelope in warmth,

of knees, and crooks of arms and napes and insoles

breasts so malleable and languorous in my mouth,

hot breath, insistent flesh...

but mostly I thanked them for musky warmth mingled with

soaked, slick bodies

and the softness. I can't forget the softness.

(c) Trinity Wolf

Ask for What You Get

What I want.

What do I want.

Do I want?

I want....

...you to see me as I am, clothed, nude, in love, writhing under your touch; human, feminine, strength, beauty and tenderness.

I want you to start at the bottom and work your way up...

...but only if you started at the top in the first place.

I want you to mind-fuck me all week long

until I'm writhing in my chair, rubbing the phone on my breasts...

until the computer screen is fogged, yes, mind-fuck me all week long.

I want you to feel me when we're together, pay attention to the small sounds I make when you do something right; pay attention to the big sounds I make when you're getting me--feeling me, just right. Feel my need for you to overwhelm me. Feel my need by looking into my eyes and telling me through them that you know who I am and you want to be inside me because my insides are as beautiful as my outside.

I want you to know how you make my lower body feel when you write or say small things that tell me you want me. My legs become alive and what's between them shudders and moistens and has a tingling need to be touched by you.

I want you to pay attention to all the parts in between the good ones.

I want you....

paix

Lie To Me

She knew he lied by the way he kissed her

because lying tongues

never lie.

And she felt his hands pull and push in the softest of ways

belying how hard his eyes penetrated

when she had to believe,

until she made it harder, demanding it.

Light blue skin hovered in a dish of heavy syrup,

caramelized lust wrapped in a box

with a bow;

a gift to her senses.

He turned her over and began at her feet

washing them with his mouth

edging his way up until he could part her

enter her.

She held the pillow to her,

imagining her lover

whispering all of the things

he could not,

the illusion of forever

tossed behind glass

the color of the ashes of roses.

He slid into soft wetness

copious copulation

with streams of honey glazing his face,

and he could not speak in his moment of truth

but she could always come with a forked tongue.




© Trinity Wolf

Swallow--a short story

Swallow

It's like clawing out of a dream that you do not want to abandon for the light of day...

He liked to be on top. She didn't mind; she wanted to feel overpowered, taken.

But tonight, she took him.

Her mouth traveled to his belly and circled, slowly, while the tip of his cock moistened her cheek.

On top and in charge and helpless all at once.

The length of him filled her and her hands worked on him while he jerked his hips off of the bed. Tongue circling the tip, back in again; his hands in her hair, taste of musk and sex filling her mouth.

There was panic riding on this wave of lust, her mouth so full, her head moving in a rhythm she could neither stop nor ignore. Heart pounding, mouth moist and hot, all the while fighting the natural instinct to be overwhelmed with his cock slamming against her throat.

Focus, breathe, open, breathe--

She worked her finger frantically inside herself and heard him reach his end. She clamped her eyes shut as the orgasm ripped through her, and he spilled inside of her.

Helpless

Moving quickly, she raised up and laid herself on top of him. The look in his eyes was wary and smoky all at once, and she smiled as her mouth clamped on his. Forcefully she shot his cum into him and his eyes flew open; her hands were in his hair, holding him, moving him as he swallowed until his spasming throat took all of it in. She took him, took him with his own pleasure, and he let her.

Breathe...

La Cage aux Voyage---A Short Story

It's idyllic, the way he holds her hand and caresses her knuckles with his mouth.

Hot breath, her hands tremble with her knees and so many questions brim at the very top of her mind; no words, though, for any of them.

The elevator is slow, gilded, and she is reminded of a cage. Her cage hovers over hundreds of feet of open space as if she were being strung up in the Moulin Rouge, her cheeks reddened and her dress flouncing as they haul her up, up. Her garter snaps as he lifts her skirt and disappears under it, his tongue finding her moisture and jerking out in time with the elevator's ascent.

The crowd cheers as she grips the bars. Her mouth opens in a perfect "o" while smoke curls past the golden cage where she sits, perched on an immovable seat. The crowd is pulsing as it watches her, the man under her skirt moves his head from side to side and so does she as her dress threatens to come off completely from the heat and fire in her cunt. He reaches up, and in a swift motion, rips her flouncing costume in two, revealing creamy white breasts, slick with her wetness. The audience screams and moans in one hot-wink burst; the applause heightens her lover's tongue as he grows impatient with her trembling legs. His fingers thrust inside and she calls out, head falling back to meet the bars painfully.

And the crowd...well, the crowd goes wild.

Naturellement.

The elevator's bell sounds and he stands, chin slick and glistening with her. He smiles, picking up their bags and grabs her hand.

The room, to her, is perfect. Even the room number is perfect; the numbers slide off of her tongue as he inserts the key, the door giving it's green light...to enter.

Flowers stand on the table heralding their entrance; their perfume mingles with the heady perfume of sex and anticipation. She is back in the cage, gilded and everything French from the milled soaps to the striped wall covering. Wine is chilled with glasses, cut crystal with the word Love in frosted glass.

The wine will look so pretty with "Love" in front of it, she thinks.

Music plays and lights dim and she knows how he had worked to make it all perfect, just for her.

He slid off her dress and attached his fragrant mouth on her neck as she moaned and collapsed on the bed. Hands wander her body and lips and teeth press into her; an ice cube from the bucket plays along her nipple and the melting issuance slides delectably down her torso like a stream to an aromatic lake. She wants him to swim in her, drown in her eyes while his cock dives into her.

She hears moaning and it isn't hers; she hears breathing and it isn't hers.

The other couple on the bed next to theirs make their own music and as she watches them she calls out with abandon and releases herself to her audience, high above the air. She is her own trapeze artist swinging in her golden abyss, her hands fastened to the ornate headboard as she sings her swan song. He coaxes her orgasm from her body, then from her lips through his own and suddenly, two pairs of eyes alight on to her as her climax shudders through her, drowning her lover's hands and face with her juices.

And the crowd...well, the crowd goes wild.

(c) Trinity Wolf

Today's the Day...

Come chat with me tonight at Forbidden Publications author's chat at 7pm Mtn Time....

paix

trin

It's Coming, It's Coming....

Thursday, August 30th...

The Mediation: Initiation

Get it at Forbidden Publications and enjoy. The second book in the series will be available soon!

paix

trin

Pleasure

Pleasures of the flesh...

Once and always denounced by those who believe in a god who would punish and repudiate those who partake of it.

We are driven by pleasure; it's in our biology. Why would it be there if we were not meant to enjoy, explore, bathe in it like an exquisite elixir? I remember a painful lesson as a child--as we all probably did--involving a rubber band and my big brother. If you stretch it and fight over it, he will let go; you will get stung.

SNAP!

The same lesson goes for pleasure. For all of the brakes that society and religion places on it, it has snapped backwards, stinging our psyches with unconscious shame, warping our ability to truly enjoy and immerse ourselves in what comes naturally. The dissonance that occurs because of the conflict of biology and pseudo-morality causes disenfranchisement; human beings who seek pleasure but feel shame experience a backlash. This leads to excess. This leads to guilt, betrayal of self. Shame. Unhappiness.

There are too many who can only enjoy pleasure in the dark. Think of the term "Guilty Pleasures." That term shouldn't exist. Why should we feel guilt for something naturally embedded in our biology, our psyches? So if you do believe in god, why would this god create bodies filled with need, but create 'laws' that circumscribe them?

Is it to somehow propel us into the Super Ego? We don't need laws and commandments for that. Our society and culture already have in place that which creates the Higher Self. Since when did denial of pleasure become sacrosanct?

Self-pleasure.

We have a need and our bodies call to us. Sliding our hands down our torso and cupping what is there, yearning to be touched. Moisture, engorged, quivering...breathing faster, pressure accumulating in complete abandon, merging with All and nothing and if there is a god or gods, you join them in heaven for

just

one

moment.

Tell me.

Tell me that's wrong. And I'll tell you that god and I...we disagree.

paix

It Is Here!!

The book cover. Not as hot as the story, though. I promise you that.

paix,

trin

Some Body Like You

Some Body Like You

You are warm flesh hot-slick with my sweat;
you are a dancer
with razor-sharp steps--
they slice into me,
every vein I possess
bleeding me dry till there is nothing left.
I gush helplessly
pale as the moon
no staunch to the flow
I’ll be gone by noon.

You are your mouth--it is all that I ride
a deluge of acuity from your tongue
I abide
it touches on me, on one tiny part...
the sensation engulfs me fully
save my heart.

You are the faceless one I see--but don’t;
You are the warmth I should seek--but won’t
your warmth is like his
your breath is like his
your body like his
So much alike
as to fool me to fantasy and a bare-lucid night;
with ordinary bliss
I take you to bed,
With ordinary breath
I keep your ears fed.

But you are not him, you’ll never be
He is not you and you’ll never see
that it’s his hand that strokes me inside and out
it’s his face
that burns my lids as I writhe and I shout
it’s his name that silently escapes
from my lips
it’s his finger marks I want
concaved on my hips;

grief slides across my temples
I feel the cold tears
they slip unnoticed,
back toward my ears...
but it’s his thrust that brings me over the edge
and it’s his shove that’s pushed me over this ledge;

He is not you
you don’t know me like him--
you don’t know what’s broken me
bled me within
it’s wrapped all around me
the suffering part
I’m a poet’s muse
With an abandoned heart
I am someone to touch, just a body to you,
and to me
well, you’re just some body, too.

© Trinity Wolf

Yearn

Yearn

It was a story told with forked tongues

from the beginning;

He told her he loved her

and she loved him.

It was a white house

with tangled, wet sheets--

he was a stone statue, marble and hard inside

but soft to the touch of her silk-palms;

Flowers nestled at her feet

He said he loved her and she loved him,

and when he made love to her

he held her down,

a prisoner of her longing

she yearns...

The whispering moments when she felt God

a sunrise in her belly, out her wet opening

soaking his torso, her wooden idol--

Satin nights wrapped their silken arms around them,

lifting them into the mysteries;

and he said he loved her

and she loved him--

But when crashing seas washed away the temple

it started slowly,

tearing at the foundations

mutilating one stone at a time

patiently

until her love alone

could not sustain it.

(c) Trinity Wolf

What A Woman Wants

This is the age old question: What do women really want? I can't speak for all women, but I can speak for myself and I'll wager a vast majority of them.

We want to know we're special. We don't want to know how hot the girl is on TV or walking past us. We don't want you to be a monk, but have some courtesy.

We want to be pursued. After we have established a relationship with you, don't stop chasing after us. Still send us love-emails and act as though we are something for which you long.

We want consistency. We like it when you keep your word, when you call when you say you will.

We like you to be the boss in bed sometimes.

We like to be the boss sometimes.

We want you to ask us what feels good and what turns us on--preferably in a hot-breath query right in our ear while we writhe under you.

We want to be cherished. We know we aren't the first or last to grace your bed, but we want to feel that we are valued for who we are and who we are to you.

We want you to touch us in public, we want to know that you are thinking of us in all sorts of compromising positions while we eat with our friends.

Women want connection--look into our eyes when you speak, make love, listen to her.

Women want tenderness. But we also need rough hands on us during times of sweaty, bumpy-grindy sex.

Women want to be prized for their mind; nothing turns me on more than a man who reads my blogs...

Women want appreciation for who they are, not just what they do.

Women want a man who knows who he is.

Finally, women want to melt into that longing embrace that encompasses our world and makes us forget about the laundry in the corner.

paix

Carpet Burns

Carpet Burns

Rough bumps on my back
on your knees;
tender sting
as water drips over me.
Fingers
indent me
holding me,
small bruises

a constellationof pleasure marks
grasping, holding me still.
thrusting roughly
ecstasy, implode, explode
all over the carpet
Your hand under me
protecting my skin...
but my lower back still has a rough sore
my inner thighs tremble
when I slide into water
and the sting makes me hiss
all I do is remember
the taste of your kiss.

© Trinity Wolf 4-2007

Short Story--Smack

Smack

This is the last time. God help me....

She could almost hear the whoosh of his hand through the air as it collided with her ass. The sound disconnected from the pain and seemed eternally separate, both lasting interminably but in different ways.

Smack!

"Do you understand why you're being disciplined?" He allowed his hand to caress her stinging behind softly, exacerbating the pain.

"I haven't done your shirts--"

"Haven't done my shirts, dinner's been late every night this week, the downstairs is a mess...you know all of that. Do you know why I am doing this?"

"Because I deserve it."

"And because God wants you to be a better wife, a happier person. I love you, sweetheart..."

Smack!

She didn't want to whimper, but it escaped her lips anyway. Part of her wanted to stay silent and strong; but she knew the sooner she cried, the sooner it would stop. She could feel her husband's erection on her stomach as she lay prostrate over his lap like a child, a naughty child.

She eased her ass up higher, craving the end, not wanting the anticipation to drive her mad. She wanted it over with so she could burn his goddamned dinner.

But she knew it wasn't the end.

She felt his finger trail down her crease until it tickled the downy hairs between her legs. She swallowed, allowing her legs to spread as her heart beat frantically against her ribs. His finger entered her suddenly and she cried out.

Smack!

She bit her arm, muffling her half cry, half sob.

"You see, it's all about love..."

He mounted her from behind as tears welled up in her eyes. Love...it's about love.

She packed quickly as she heard him singing from the bathroom. He sang the song from Oklahoma. That's another reason to leave. He loved musicals. He would shower and come out to tell her about his day, like she gave a rat's ass. A pang of emotion hit her because she knew deep down she loved him. But the humiliation had to stop. The pain had to stop. And she'd be damned if she was ironing one more fucking shirt.

The suitcase was from her honeymoon. It was a gift from her mother-in-law; white with pink and red flowers covering it, like every dress her mother-in-law owned and wore to church. I'm buying a plain black leather case as soon as I can. Maybe tomorrow. God forgive me, God help me.

She stood with knees quaking and her whisky sour churning in her gut as he stood before her, dripping wet, beautiful, confused.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"Leaving."

He laughed only for a moment until her eyes told him to stop. He swallowed and blinked rapidly. "I--I don't understand. I--"

"I can't do it anymore."

"But we agreed that this was how we wanted...it to be. God--"

"God has nothing to do with this. You want to make that true, but you can't. Find it in the bible, anywhere, that says what we're doing is good for us, for me."

"Please..." he approached her and stopped, his face miserable and pale. She had backed up a step toward the door. "Honey, we can negotiate. We can stop, we can talk, we can do anything you like, just don't walk out like this."

"Anything I like?"

"Yes, I love you and I thought you loved me." The hurt registered on his face like a small child. She could almost see his mind piecing together where it had gone wrong, what had gone wrong.

She did love him. She did. The plastic handle from her case felt slick as her palms gave up their moisture and her knees wobbled with fear. She gently set the case down and walked toward him. He dropped his towel and stood naked before her, head down. She tilted his chin up to her.

"I can't do it anymore. Do you understand?"

"Okay, anything you want. Anything--" she held her hand up to his quivering lips and let it slide down to his cock. It grew erect with her touch, and he let out a gasp as she gripped him firmly.

"From now on, we're going to share in the household responsibilities."

"I--okay, I don't know how to iron--"

"The cleaners does shirts!" Her voice bounced off of the walls and echoed into the silent room. He nodded his head as his cock grew firmer and sweet, clear liquid eased from the tip.

She turned him around and pressed him against the wall near to the bathroom door. She stroked him as he closed his eyes and mumbled his apologies, his devotion. His words were interrupted as she brought her hand around to his face. His eyes widened as she raised it up--and back.

She expected protest; she expected anger, and all she saw was his eyes clenching shut, body stiff with expectation.

Smack!

He whimpered much sooner than she expected.

(c) Trinity Wolf, 2007

Bad Little Wifey

This is inspired by fellow blogger, Slut, from A Whore in the Temple of Reason.

She, via her blog, introduced me to a site called Christian Domestic Discipline or CDD.

Oh.
My.
God.

The basic premise of the site is that men are the bosses, women are subservient to them, and if they get outta line, the man reserves the right to resort to corporeal punishment via spanking using hands, rods or whatever else comes in handy. Spare the rod, spoil the missus?

What is there to say about this other than "denial...is an ugly thing." If we were to get inside the heads of some of these people, I think we'd find what's in a lot of people's heads when it comes to BDSM: a desire to dominate and the desire to be dominated. Only these people are using the bible and God to sanction and justify the behavior. Why do they need to do that? Why can't they just enjoy the prospect of exploring each other's sexual shadow-side?

I think it has to do with the deep-seated belief that sexual feelings and acts are inherently evil in the sight of God, so the ideal solution to that is to take God's "word" and twist it to accommodate their desire for BDSM. The hysterical part is they don't use any actual bible quotes to sanction the practice. They gather quotes about a man being the "protector" and a wife being "subservient", but, and I'm gonna stretch a bit here, nowhere in the bible does it say "If she' acts naughty, lift her little skirt and swat her until she's red and wet!"

But there's another element to it that is disturbing. From the website it reads:

"What makes this model unique in the current times and culture is that the
husband, in order to love his wife, has decided to use what might be called
‘God mirroring’ or ‘practical godliness’ - in other words, a following of
God's methods of how He uses authority, and how God expects and tells mere
humans to carry out their delegated authority. This leads to
physical discipline to lovingly keep the wife accountable to her master’s God given authority. After these marriage relationships have been living
with the husband as head and the wife in subjection to his authority, the wife
always desires greatly to have this type of relationship with her husband,
feeling that the husband is showing practical love when he corrects
her with physical and painful discipline for sinful habits or other various
things. She wants to be in subjection and so obeying means allowing
discipline in any way her master/husband determines is necessary."

What's disturbing is that for many, BDSM is a sort of lifestyle choice at the most, a game at the very least. These Christians have formed a belief system around it that could easily get out of hand in the wrong... hands. I mean, what's the safety word for the wife in CDD Land?

"No, honey, stop! Stop! Uh...Moses!"

There is no safety word and there is no game. It is the real deal where no one cuddles after and no one feels like equals in the end. You are punished, humiliated and you are less-than.

Leave it to the Christians to fuck up the fun.

Paix

Have you found me yet?

I finally have a permanent home for my writing blog.

God, what an ordeal. But here I am.

And now...more poetry.

Slow Motion

It was in that agonizing fashion
that she twirled the cube of ice on her tongue
before she crushed it playfully in her mouth.

A small droplet of water held onto her lips
Clinging to the softness like a
stubborn dew drop on a petal...
and in a perfect world time would still
and I would stand slowly and walk around to her.

I would release the droplet from her mouth,
Release her breasts from her shirt
And claim them all for my own.

In slow motion I’d kneel before her
I’d part her
I’d bury myself in her
While gulls flew overhead, wings fluttering
And their calls muted by daylight noise
All silenced in the moment when her legs
Shimmied on my shoulders.

Her little flight to the heavens would awaken All
And the feasting around us
would begin anew as I slowly stand,
Smooth out my skirt
And make my way back to my untouched
Afternoon feast.

© Trinity Wolf