drinking passion

There are times that I question who I am, what I have to offer, the levels of my passion and perhaps how to control them.


I seldom question that, my passion, its size. It’s how I bring lovers close then drive them away, either with too much or too little. Give me an understanding ear and let me believe, I will give you far too much, the fire is always inside of my heart , but what is the fuel that makes it explode? I know exactly but cannot put it into words. Far too few who offer this, the perfect questions that make me remember me, the subtle flesh that awakens my hunger – far too few.

We grow and learn, we learn what we need and I don’t compromise anymore. I travel thousands of miles and meet one that travels hundreds to meet me, we know what we want, we remember the times of ours born of pain, honesty, and desire.


I look for something to give me strength again where I need it, and standing in the shower, did again. I remembered this, a piece written by a dear friend and occasional lover in southern states…


and these, Her words…



“…once more i am caught by you. Talons deep in my weaknesses. you would hold me, and you would have me…

…the world is reduced to one
chaise lounge.

moments are measured in heartbeats between the blows of your thin hands against my flesh. every strike shoots lighting past my teeth, i gasp, sigh, groan… sinking deeper into the vermilion fabric, displacing pillows as i go.

still wanting to argue, on principle, i make small, whiny protests which only serve to remind us that you have won.

your heart rages against the cage of your ribs.

i am stripped down and made into sacrament.

i lick myself from your lips, and let you go on and on and on, well after i have been sated. again and again i buck, telling you “too much!” so sensitive, after climax: your kisses hurt, and yet i don’t make you stop.

an eternity later, you are at my side, face close to mine. i get lost in your green gaze and once more my breath gets sharp, my pulse quickens. you work your fingers inside of me with one hand, and clasp my throat with the other.

i want to tell you to reach in, to split me open. instead i cry out incoherently, unhinged by your touch. my hands fly about, madly.

i could die. and gladly. (i’ve always trusted you….)

i find myself in a place of surreal calm with you. it is deep and dark and warm. spicy sweet, like ginger candy, like cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom. enveloping, it covers me like hot ocean waves, and i just can’t bring myself to be bothered by it…”


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