Sunday, January 11, 2009

Little damp fern hands wet my thighs

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. ~ Rachel Carson

The other night I was walking along and looked up into the night sky to see a woman in the clouds -- nude, as if posing for a sketch or a photo or just reclined there against black velvet, sighing into the atmosphere. She had one leg flung outward, the other pulled inward, knee bent. The almost-full moon shone as her navel. It was so beautiful and such a distinct form that I raced home for the camera and raced back to that place as fast as my little legs could carry me, but she was gone. The drifting clouds had shifted her all to pieces by the time I returned. I took some pictures anyway, but I really wanted to capture what I saw.

"The moon is moving away as you read this, by about 1.6 inches (4 centimeters) a year. Eventually this drift will force the moon to take 47 days to circle our world."

Last night was the Full Wolf Moon. I'd hoped to see it again tonight, but the night is pea soup. Clouds crying curtains of drizzle. The moon is up there though. I can feel it. I walked and walked, hoping for a glimpse. And then I had to pee. That hurting kind, like when you drink too much soda in the movie theater and start twisting around because you want to wait it out because you're afraid you'll miss something and won't be able to find your seat in the dark. So I slipped into the dark woods and slipped my bum out of my "technical" fabric -- quickly, hurry, hurry! I could hear the creek down in the ravine and the rain spatting on my coat and feel the moisture rolling off of leaves and stabbing at my bare ass with icy jabs. Little damp fern hands wet my thighs and I tipped my head back, way back, and howled softly, letting go of something, some kind of sweetness, on the light side of the moon.

I feel your heat before you ever touch me. 

Feel your aura fluttering gold like the quaking aspen leaves overhead. Wings beating black. Wide-reaching arms, outstretched, muscles taught and lusting for blood, wanting to be fed. 


Flung out like a net to snare, strike, and spread me wide against the rough landscape. 

The thick winter quilt is damp moss, a heavy green blanket of it shifted under thigh as I bend, silently, to your fingers, you lifting the lacy black edges, slapping white flesh to pink. My desire drips, steaming atop leaf litter and spores. Sticky and sweet. Taste me up here. And down there. Lick my syrup from your lips. Wring me out. 

Oh my. Mind my manners. Slide against me. Grind my rough edges. Prick me pretty with your heat. I am yours. Say it. Unbutton me. Dive for my pearl. Shiny. Soft. Hot. Wet. Rise against my buzzing hive, stinging, winged passion. 

Don’t be careful. Push your tongue deep and love me for what’s inside. Lust me for what’s soft. Want me for what’s hard. Desire me for what’s never been so perfect. Fuck me for what’s wet and shining with bright, fluorescent need. Need for you. Need for this. Here. Now. Tonight. 

My fingers slide in and out of reality. Touching myself while you pleasure me with your tongue, your mouth and our hands exploring the place where two become one. Where one becomes. Where one. Where. Two. None. All. Night. Long.

Still obsessing over those yellow moon Meyer lemons that are so yummy and currently in season, like the wolf moon! This quick citrus-brightened breakfast dish will have you howling, moon or no moon. Promise. 

Poached Mojo
Poached egg with smoked salmon & lemon cream 
Mix a little sour cream with a squeeze of Meyer lemon and some freshly ground pepper
Poach a pretty egg just the way you like it. Slide it onto a plate. 
Top with smoked salmon, lemon cream, and a sprinkling of fresh Parmesan (if desired) 
Garnish with a crescent moon lemon slice

(Very tasty with sourdough toast, a pot of french press, and a bloody Mary served with spicy beans)


Craig Sorensen said...

I never knew the moon could radiate so much heat!

Excellent post, as always.

Jeremy Edwards said...

My fingers slide in and out of reality. Touching myself while you pleasure me with your tongue, your mouth and our hands exploring the place where two become one. Where one becomes. Where one. Where. Two. None. All. Night. Long.

I bet that piece made the Cloud Woman—in whatever form she's now taken—as happy and horny as it made me. So I reckon you're in for a spell of sweet weather!

Jeremy Edwards said...

Oops, I excerpted one paragraph because I was going to say something specific about it ... but then I didn't. It's a magnificent culmination!

Spamword: uness. Institution of higher education located in a Scottish loch?

BadAssKona said...

Gotta love a grrl who can pee in the woods!

Neve Black said...

How gorgeous your words are, Kirsten.

I did take a moment and look at that moon last night. I'd forgotten it was the Full Wolf Moon. It was ominous and dreamy.

Kirsten Monroe said...

I'm glad that big old wolf moon shone down and made y'all smile!

Craig -- so glad the moon warmed you like the sun, as it should!

Jeremy, maybe that's why Cloud Woman skittered off that way -- she had to run on home!

B.A. -- that's funny. Not very lady like though :)

Neve, yay! I was thinking about you and hoping you saw it. Ominous and dreamy. Mmmm. Such is life.