When Dragons don’t Text Back

‘Would you rather be a dragon or a unicorn?’

I repeat the question my sweetfriend asked the night before

‘Oh. That’s a good question!’

‘Well?’

‘Dragon. Definitely dragon.’

I text my friend too much. Sometimes she responds. Sometimes she doesn’t.

I know she loves me.

She makes me feel safe, absorbs my madness and spits out rational thought in her sleep

We talk about sex, fuckery, and the magic of extra biscuits

I am learning this is what friends do

Practicing the art of leaning into my sexuality isn’t a joke

Especially since I tend to extremes, abstinence or Lilith on fleek

These are my settings

Fate and the Universe have sent me on a side-quest to balance

My friend is my inspiration, guide, and also the dragon who lives in old, dark caves fucking with nearby villagers

Weary traveler, exhausted from my quest, I approach the village

Naturally, recognizing my warrior status, the villagers solicit me for assistance

I oblige

Slowly I trek up the mountain to the cave where the dragon sleeps

My approach wakes her. I find her to be perfectly lovely, if a bit surly

She explains that the villagers often climb through her caves and interrupt her sleep

To ward them off, occasionally, she takes to burning one or twelve of them to a crisp

She says they taste wonderful with salt. I laugh

This is how our friendship begins, the warrior and the dragon

I came to slay, but stayed to play

Anyway, I’m texting my friend

We are talking about sex and trips and food that makes us come

I eat a canna-chocolate and write one last message before sleep pulls me under

Typing it, I am glad for her, her fiery mouth and her ancient wisdom

The text is word vomit in the form of late night poetic mania

I know she will not respond, I send it anyway

When she reads it I know she’ll think I’m ridiculous,

Smiling to myself, I think of where we began

Ridiculous, isn’t that what dragons think of man?

Enchanted Dreams

Setting sail to the

Land of Dreams,

Following wherever the

Stars may lead.

In many directions they

Cast their glow,

Where they lead

Only they know.

Does the land hop

From place to place

Or do those magicĀ 

Stars guide and lead

The sailors of those

Enchanted Dreams?

Elation

I am not sure how we got here.  I am not sure where we will go after this.  There is no turning back.  I am certain of nothing.

Nothing except real or imagined, I never want this moment to end.  The beautiful culmination of all of our sorrows, our struggles, our laughter, our experience.

Feeling, finally feeling the softness of your flesh merged with my own. The hot wetness of your sex pressed, wanting, against my knee.  Rocking gently – a quiet request which I cannot deny. 

My hands are no fools.  They are not wild as with previous lovers, but slow.  Slow and cautious.  Moving up and down your body, cataloging every dip, every curve, freckle and mark.

These hands are my eyes.  Cupping and stroking; leading the way for my mouth to follow.  Tasting every inch of your flesh. 

Does your right elbow taste differently than your left ?  These are the things I must discover. Curiosity must be satisfied. 

I will know you.

My mouth is impatient.  It does not want to wait for my hands, to reach its treasure. 

It follows the trail of sweat, finding its way to your swollen, wet, lips.  I kiss them softly.  Coaxing them open with the promise of my tongue.

Running it from the base of your sex to the top, stopping just below the clitoris.  Gently, ever so gently, I repeat.  Each time, with a bit more force, pressing my tongue into you.  I taste the sweet tang of you.  I am consumed.

It is all that I can do to keep myself composed.  How sweetly you moan with my head between your thighs.  How seductively your body moves, instructs, guides. 

I am your student.  Show me, mold me, teach me.

Your hand clutches the back of my head, pulling me in, deeper, deeper.  My tongue is ravenous.  I feel I am drinking from holy waters. 

Warmth pools between my legs, throaty cry escapes my lips, slipping inside of you.  An invitation to join my coming, which you graciously accept – elation.