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Monday, July 29, 2013

In My Dreams

In my dreams
I am at your feet

Bound prostrate
Silk stockings
Wrist and ankle

Of feminine beauty
Captivates otherwise

In my mouth
Salt of your sweat

You are not
To my struggles

Torment sublime
Breath of life
between your toes

Wry smile
Your lips
You contemplate
The next

Turgid tribute
Your wicked intent

A crop
Your hand
Welts on my person
your estate

Tongue unfettered
Salve a day in leather
On your clitoris
In your behind
Key and lock

to you,
I belong
As you take me inside

My soul, I know
Can not refrain

Now clean me
You bid
I do as you say

A candle
Sweet chardonnay

Say it
You adjure
I confess what it is

In my dreams

The Ohio Players

I've had the pleasure to know many a firefighter.  I think they are a group unique in and of themselves.  Notorious pranksters, unselfish, work hard, love good, play and play some more.  There are exceptions of course, but that is my recollection.  Many share another characteristic not perhaps so evident:  they like to play with fire.

Then there is this.  Funk circa 1975 straight from the source of 'cool'.  Must be something in the water.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Your shoes....

I think I've been mistaken about my self for some time.  I used to think I was a masochist, and perhaps I am.

I've been doing some electrical work.  I've always dabbled, switches and whatnot, but I'm rehabbing a house.  As I crawled though ground glass, in an attic that was probably hot enough to bake bread, pulling 12/2 romex along with me, I reflected that if I were indeed a masochist I would've chosen this as my profession.  Add the real possibility of death and it's quite a rush.

I have lifelines with friends who are pros, and I call them for guidance and support. When I lament the agony they laugh and say, 'Yeah, I know.'