Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Jezebel's Diary 8: Inspiration

I want to write
I want to express
Images to say
No words to display

I want to feel
I want to show
Emotions to tell
Stories to feel

My hand drifts
Across my phone
The lighted screen
Remains still

I stood alone
Outside the cold
I felt the numb
The cold loneliness

Music too bright
Lights too loud
Alcohol was numb
Legs were drunk

At the weirdest
Of times

My hand
Finally moves
Words formed
Images written

I stood tall
Upon swaying feet
I typed hurriedly
Ideas don’t wait

As I wrote
As I strode
I spotted inspiration
On the floor

Inspiration cried
Back against a wall
She sat on the floor
Tears she only saw

I leant down
Caressed her cheeks
You’re all I seek

Feeling my hand
She tilted her head
Upwards she gazed
With distant eyes

She was gone
Her soul was torn
She cried enough
To those loud sounds

In the dark
I carried her up
Against the wall
I whispered to her

You’re what I seek
Others may not want
But you I need

Inspiration smiled
A weak one at best
Her soft eyes
Still had hope

I smell her breath
Her exhale on my lips
Our noses touched
Our lips joined

This is wrong
She thought aloud
I’ve not done this
Ever before

I did not smile
I just leaned in
My lips found hers
With inspiration I kissed

Had a flat stomach
Smooth toned skin
Cherry sweet lips

I felt her up
My hands against
Her skin
Under her slip

She did the same
Her hands on my back
Drawing me close
Enjoying our kiss

I felt her breasts
Covered with lace
Hearing quickened breaths
Feeling quiet moans

My hand
Was sandwiched
By her warm back
And the cold wall

Found the clasp
Of her lace bra
I slipped under
Pressing against skin

Knees between
Her legs
I leaned gently
Onto her jeans

Inspiration moaned
And moved
Her hips gently
Against my knee

Her hands grabbed
Crumpling my dress
Yet I did not care
I wanted her bad

For someone new
She had the feel
For experienced me
I knew what to do

My hand
Moves unfettered
Across her
Heaving chest

Under her lace
Feeling her mound
Of young breasts
Of erect nipples

Each one I pinched
Lightly and sensually
Too little to hurt
Enough to pleasure

Her jeans
Were in the way
The rough material
Blocked my path

We were in public
Acting like lovers
I wanted more
I could not care

My tongue found hers
Like how a snake
Senses heat
Like second nature

Inspiration was drunk
On my sexual advances
Sealed by my lips
An addictive kiss

My hand drifts
Under her jeans
Found the same
Matching lace

Under I went
Feeling her skin
Found some hair
Yet downwards I seek

I loosened my knee
Giving some space
To find the secret
Of my inspiration

I found the secret
Moist against my hand
The familiar folds
I also have

I knew where
To touch
I knew where
To feel

My hand slides
Along familiar
Rifts and edges
To deliver pleasure

Inspiration squealed
Into my mouth
The high pitch
Hitting my throat

I was engulfed
With satisfaction
Pleasuring someone
My dedication

Inspiration leaned
Onto my breasts
Her hands gripped
For support and rest

One hand upon breasts
Kneading like dough
The other is wet
Like working clay

The feelings she felt
I am well aware
Years of experience
None could compare

My fingers moved
Like an expert craftsman
Moulding wet clay
Quickly and gently

She was almost ready
Drawn like a bow
Ready to release
I was in control

I felt her tense
Under my hands
The familiar shudder
I could deliver

Inspiration groaned
One last time
She held her breath
As I soaked her dry

I held her close
As she recovered
From the pleasure
That wrecked her

I laid a kiss
Upon her forehead
My hands caressed
Her warm cheeks

Finally she stood
On her two feet
I gazed once more
At dreamy brown eyes

Thanks she said
Her eyes glowed
It was my first
I must be insane

I smiled a smile
Secretive and shy
Like how I am
In real life

There is no need
We will not meet
I’m merely a stranger
Seeking inspiration

Inspiration I wanted
Inspiration I needed
Inspiration I sought
Inspiration I found

These stories I write
Are deeply etched
With my heart and soul
My feelings entwined

Sometimes I write
With feelings enraged
Sometimes I write
With no aim in mind

But always I write
To express myself
And I always write
To find myself

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