Eternal Letters

My love, words cannot convey the emotions that so well up in me that joyous tears flow constantly. That you would understand me, alone in itself is a thing of beauty — but that you would understand the depths of my poignancy and still look upon me adoringly and love me unconditionally is a gift that I could never deem myself worthy. Your name is whispered among women, and men do stare at me enviously as if I had the fulness of the heavens in my possession. The sincerity of your love heals even the deepest and most hideous scars that were marked upon my heart when I fell into devastation. The bitter cold is merciless, and the soul withers in darkness like unwatered roses cut from the stem, left strewn on tables in drab rooms never to see the sun again. I cannot count the number of times that my sorrowful tears fell in your hair as you whispered to me lovingly, I will always be here. Your soothing caress is like much needed deep breaths in fresh air. Your head rests on my chest and I reaffirm to myself that I want no one else in this world or the next. On my many journeys if the sea were to take me in its unforgiving waves, the whisper of your name would be my last breath. At my end, I would know that I would see you again; your eternal kisses falling upon me like light raindrops falling upon budding leaves in the spring, bringing to life what was thought to be lost forever but was found again. I love you with a love unfathomable. With tears, I gave my heart to you in the winter with sincerity and purity irreversible. The marriage of us is not with rings or cliché babblings of repetitive sayings but of a transcendency with potency not transcribed easily, illuminated beautifully by transparent destiny, and richly blessed eternally. We share true intimacy through our minds, souls, and bodies. We please each other with fervor that brings us closer together, tearing asunder any inkling of strife or anger. We find an oasis in each other, and you have loved me like no other. Darling, I swear that you have loved me like no other.

Self–Pleasure

Erotic euphoria allows no room for deep contemplation as the body submits fully to passionate rhythms of unwavering stimulation — erect nipples and flowing wetness signify the depth of anticipation, because it has been done so many times before in the comfort of privacy, allowing for sensual expression that is expressed sometimes quietly but most often loudly. Remembering her last intense fucking, she utters, Fuck my pussy, with a large object inside her and her twitching clitoris being massaged expertly by experienced fingers; her left hand slowly moves up to rub and lightly pinch nipples that well know the feeling of the tip of an eager tongue. Imagining him there, she whispers, Please make me cum, not stopping her erotic rhythm for anything or for anyone. What would her high society friends and acquaintances think if they knew that she tasted herself eagerly, licking the wet passion slowly with the tip of her tongue? The beauty of her expression is that she doesn’t give a fuck. She loves telling her lover that she wants to be fucked upon seeing the girth of his cock that she so likes to get on her knees and suck. The lingering taste of him intensifies her want. She opens her legs a little wider to deepen what is vibrating inside her, intently moving her fingers over what is most receptive to pleasure. Her subtle beauty is her femininity and the womanhood of her. To true pleasure, she is no stranger. She is accustomed to marathon fucking and well hung men with stamina. She lies in her bed; her leg hanging off the edge. Her hair flowing into soft pillows, like a vast ocean at the mouth of many rivers. When the height of pleasure finally finds her, there are no words that she can utter. Her pupils dilate. Her body shudders.