Poem: GoNe

My mind remembers how texture has often taken me to another place and time delivering me to the shores of ecstatic peace.

The feel of soft fine sand as it clings and swirls around in my hand. My fingers eagerly pressing together desiring the fix of feeling every bit of the texture before it disappears through them.

The feel of powdered limestone or chalk fine enough with just a tiny bit of granular residue that tease my fingers if rubbed too often would alter my fingerprints.


There is also the sounds created by the textures that are enjoyed. Both sounds and the feel captivate me done at the same time I am almost completely gone.


Bringing into the focus the collaboration of feel, sound and smell takes the texture to another level, higher, the splendor splendidly taking me until I’m lost in being gone.

I give myself these pleasures but not very often and perhaps not often enough but I consent to them just the same.

Even as my thoughts form these words textures invite me to play but just now I deny myself hopefully long enough to make my next encounter that much more gone.

©Exposed Loving💙 6.24.17

Poem: Hands

Hands captivate me, I watch and wait for them to bring me to a place beyond touch.

Small, medium or large, hands are in charge. They pick up. They put down touching texture all around.

Hands feel what the heart can not see. Hands embrace the unlovable and troubled.

Hands have character expressing a narrative of their own down to the bone.

Your hands elegant and sure touch me giving me a warm cure.

Exposed Lovingđź’™, 4.18.17

Making Love in the Coffee Shop 

Sitting in the coffee shop she recalls the last time they saw each other. Tammy’s eyes pierced BJ’s heart more than what cupid could do. They made love in the coffee shop, their female frames not touching but their hearts mingled and each one claimed the other to be her only love.
~Exposed Loving, 3.5.17~

Missing the “It”

Today I find myself in a space that I don’t usually talk about. I find myself missing the touch and connection of a special woman. I have not talked to her or seen her yet.

I find myself missing the dynamic mixture of my Dominant energy with a submissive woman’s energy. There is nothing like that erotic sensual dance. I have not had that in a while.

I’m not sure if I will ever meet this unknown special submissive woman but I think of her from time to time wondering who she might be and what our time would be like.

The unknown can be wonderful.
~EL~, 2.25.17

(Images from Tumblr)