the rhythm was overwhelming,
so deep within her, 
it was all she felt,
her breath syncing to him,
until she was so lost,
she wasn’t certain she was breathing at all

he’d woven himself inside her,
threading and stitching,
mapping a patchwork of every moment,
a pattern so colorful she didn’t need
open eyes to see;
it just was and always would be

she knew this,
she knew it like she knew 
things that just are, 
like fire in the pit of her belly,
concrete and steel
in the marrow of her bones

that’s why, when his fingers
gripped her throat,
she wasn’t afraid,
in fact, she was quite the opposite;
in this moment she was more alive 
than she’d ever been

just his, and nothing else

it was just he and her
and the rhythm,
the rhythm of them,
the absence of space between, 
slippery skin, all muscle and no time,
for time had ceased to exist

and, oh god, her body knew his touch,
craving it more than air, even,
needing to spill over,

except, her mind was so 
intertwined with his,
that her body had no choice but to wait,
humming, full to capacity,
floating, suspended,
awaiting his permission

and with just one phrase,
three words, hot in her ear, 
taking root in her center,
her body obeyed,
in heaves and trembles and moans,
all belonging to him

she belonged to him

-image found via Tumblr

Ethereal (Quadrille)

breath slowing, syncing to yours,
time’s passing ceased

behind clenched eyelids, passion’s spark ignited the heavens,
singular universe created

my body had attained memory of you,
but our souls had achieved much more 

I knew then we’d gained something 
only spirits are privy to

-image credit 8tracks.com, shared in response to DVerse’s Quadrille prompt, spark


your lips are some kind of magic

when they touch me,
time stops as my body catches fire,
surging from the inside out,
rippling gooseflesh, alive,
trembling with need,

I don’t even notice where I am,
but I damn sure know I’m with you

and all I want is more

-image credit wishespoint.com

Sunday is Funday

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. It’s busy with cleaning and lawn work, grocery shopping and laundry. There’s homework to help with and a dog to be walked. It’s also the one day in the week when we usually have no other plans. We mosey through the day going from one task to the next. M bakes bread and we often cook together, so much of our time is spent in and out of the kitchen.

All day long, I get towel snaps and whacks with wooden spoons (or the spaghetti strainer….ouch). I get nipple pinches and ass grabs, fists in my hair and neck kisses. We feed one another and there are many deep, groping kisses. Without fail, when the girls are occupied, I’m ambushed and brought to a quick, knee-buckling release, usually many times throughout the day. If I’m really lucky, I’m sweept up and taken to the basement for a quick, lusty interlude.

These things happen during the week as well, and the kitchen is by far my favorite room in the house. But, Sunday is my favorite day – barefoot, hair behind my ears, clothes splattered with whatever it is we’re cooking, and M’s hands all over me. I don’t care one bit about the food….I’d prefer to be devoured.


Is it possible
In the crevices of her mind
This voice she hears
Is one left behind?

Where once she sought absolution
Unknown to her now
The place she kneels
And chooses to bow

It is without walls
A state of being
Offering and penance
Absolutely freeing

Reflection and devotion
Time as her alter
A foundation of trust
Unable to falter

Connectedness, she feels it
Her outlook has changed
It’s everywhere, in all interaction
No longer contained

Quiet, young voice
No guilt and no shame
She’s found her peace
In surrender, not blame

12/28 My Tool Box

I’m happy, were happy. But, it’s more than that. It’s difficult to put into words, actually, just how different I feel. In everything, not just how I interact with him, but how I see the world in its entirety.

It was and is a conscious choice for me to make positive changes. Ultimately, my thinking has changed, which affects my emotions, which affects my behavior; it’s cyclical. And wonderful and odd. This cycle, it includes him, because he feels it too. We feed off of and fuel one another, like instruments, a cacophony of complimenting chords, creating a melody we sway to all day long.

All that armor from “before” is gone. I feel bare, yet protected. Raw, but safe. Free to express myself and an almost obsessive need to do so….thank goodness he’s an amazing listener and communicator. We’ve been inseparable, always talking or sitting together, playful and joking (he can’t stop swatting my bottom, I’ve no complaints), helping one another through trivial asks, offering support, fulfilling desires and the list goes on. I think this is me. This is the me that was buried so deeply for so long. The me he saw all along.

Instead of always wishing something were different, I am hopeful because I know things are different. I feel like I have a tool box full of tools I magically know how to use. They were there all along, I just didn’t have the courage to pick them up and try them out. These tools help me with every interaction, every task, every decision in every part of my life. I see it all through a new set of eyes.

I like what I see.

Willy Wonka says it best:

Willy Wonka: But Charlie, don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted.

Charlie Bucket: What happened?

Willy Wonka: He lived happily ever after.


After much reflection, some much needed family time and some laughing at myself, I have some clarity.

I don’t feel fraudulent.

I don’t feel like this is a costume.

I feel like we are a work in progress and that’s okay.

I feel at home.

This is work. It is difficult, and feels like a roller-coaster ride at times. Yet, it feels worth every single ounce of work. I own my mistakes.

Sometimes, life gets busy, we get preoccupied with kids, work, etc, and get a distanced or a disconnected feeling. We seek out the connectedness from one another, and it feels wonderful.

This feels scary right now. It throws me off balance sometimes. Certain circumstances or discussions or behaviors give me a glimpse of “before.” I feel raw, exposed, and emotional. I’m embracing those feelings and he is too. I didn’t even know I had this many tears.

We don’t fight. We have discussions that go to the heart of the issue and we figure out how to get it resolved. He is firm when needed, I need him to be, he wants to be. I listen, even when the issue or his firmness throws me off guard (so far). No stuffing things away to pile up or ignore.

I’m happy, we’re happy, my children are happy.

It’s been a very merry Christmas. The gifts I received required no shopping, no wrapping paper, no gift bags. Yet, my heart is overflowing and I could want for nothing more. I realized today, that every day can feel like Christmas.