Friday, January 18, 2013
How a man transforms his bowed head into a wondrous halo of figurative light.
His turbulence keeps his soul unkempt wild, ravished, he must visit women, tell stories, throw stones into the ocean to feel his saga. A story unique to only his bluest eye, telling the years on his face, his smile creases with delight when he knows a woman who'll serve him -- knees bent, ankles wrapped, her hair is the chalice that holds his cock, her teeth grind down on his muscle, tearing her throat to new extremes.
He is loved and felt inside, the way the shackles break from his fists to know embrace under tight crimson skin. Nipples throw their way into his mouth; he is close to her.
Nudging with eyelids for more milk inside. Make him feel nestled. Cradled down into the lap of light, how life tunnels through seed and womb.
Underneath he finds his seeds...licks them and swallows.
He's whole now. Beauty full.
~Jessica M. Wilson