.tattered.

I am perfectly flawed
tattered and shredded
a beautiful piece of fabric
floating aimlessly in the wind

I was sewn together with promise
but torn apart with truth
A perfect pattern
of dots
and stripes
waiting to be tucked away in his pocket
and loved forever.

- January 2009

recoil.

I love photos. Love them more than some things in this life that I find to be tangible. Yet for the most part, photos are an abstract part of life. Things we hang, and start at. Sometimes we identify with them. But for me, most of the time, they excite me. Sometimes I look at a photo that makes me want to jump up and down and then share with the world. It may not even be my own. Hell, many times I don't feel that way about my own. (my own need for perfection, but I digress).

It's the colors, the lighting, the shadows, the look in subjects eyes, the feeling, the emotion of a photo. How can so many things be wrapped up into one single shot. Frozen in time forever, just like that. Perfect, the way it was meant to be.

ouch.

sometimes...sometimes
it feels so good to love someone
so much that it hurts.
:)

alone.

Most nights I am alone.
He works away the night while I work away myself.

Here's to wishing you were here.
God I love the orgasms that the thought of you gives me.

cum.

I could feel him inside of me, thick and steady.

He leaned into my soft lips and whispered....... "I love you so much".

I opened my eyes and looked into his, and mouthed the words back.

The intensity had my entire body shaking.

It seemed as if the whole world was spinning and we were levitating in the center of it.

....And then he flipped me over and took me from behind...

He pulled my hair gently, and told me he loved my pussy.

He shuffled and moved

Pulled away from me

and then repositioned into another hole.

I clenched the mattress tightly as he entered me slowly at first.

I moaned my need to him.

I told him to cum inside me.

I wanted to feel him emptying out all of his frustrations into me.

I could feel his angst tensing and releasing.
His passion was pulsating inside me.

His breathing was paced....and then faster.

I knew he was there.
I knew him.
By now I knew his triggers, his ticks, his faces.

and then with a deep breathe and an animalistic moan
I felt him empty everything deep inside of me.

I overflow with emotion when I am with him.

I love him.
I love pleasing him.

.satisfied.

He was worth the wait.
This morning he ravaged me for hours.

God he is amazing.
We...are amazing.

Together, we are explosive.

xoxo.

.steppin.

Is it true that two passionate people

make passionate love and have passionate arguements?

At what point do those lines begin to blur ....to criss cross?

At what point do I draw a line. Or do I?

Or is this what true passionate love is?
The push and the pull.

The compromise and the take.

I'm on a journey that I've never been on before.

I'm treading carefully, but I worry that I'm only stepping on myself.