Sage Sweetwater bringing you the Upper Tier in lesbian erotica...
"just a spark from my flint," I whisper under my breath, "just a spark from my flint to save her candles from death," the metaphor hidden in my sack of cherrystones,
your candle shop so dim, Ancient Egypt, I soak the pithy reeds in molten tallow, rushlight and torch, we f***ed before, in heated passionate scorch, the time has not yet come when Romans developed the wick, Church owns all the beeswax, accepted payment for Tithe,
I roll on top of you, dipping your papyrus repeatedly, you come melted tallow, how long has your sheep and goat pasture been fallow,
traveled through another century, we f***ed before, the 1700s, you, then, were in a slow burn, spermaceti, the head of the whale, I dip the candle inside you, "just a spark from my flint," a whisper barely audible, "just a spark from my flint to save your candles from death," the metaphor hidden in my sack of cherrystones,
colonial times, I boiled your berry, your bayberry bush producing sweet-smelling wax, you were burning hot, I smell you into this century,
this century, your pussy has a low melting point, your paraffin dance of sensuality ignites the wick, you, a chandler, a candlemaker, I render you speechless, Light to you...
I like the concept of revisiting a love that has always been -an element I have perceived in the love I've shared with my own angelic goddess through the centuries, the delicious fragrance, the sweetness of sensual "low melting point....rendered speechless" by the unquenchable fire that burns hot through the eons. "the metaphor
Sage!
(from Night's Silence after the Daytime's Violence)
She sees it again ' it's is a Quickening: She picks up the cigarette and he extends her a light: A straight flint stone tool. In the friction of circular parts, in a triangle's fraction, fire is born. A quickening: oil and wick, a candle lit and her cigarette sparkles and splits. Wisps exhaled dance like ghosts in smoke rings and gentle white spirits leave smiling upright, straight through the shuttered casement. They could flutter the clouds dizzy and float where stories could write themselves, and this is where she writes hers...
Martin Powers wanted an ironing board for Christmas. Instead, he got . . . Matthew Kieler, a non-returnable gift, but a gift that kept on giving. A powerful tale of survival, compassion and unapologetic love in the time of AIDS.
During the 1960's a young soldier struggles with basic training, a bully sergeant and his own inner demons. A tale of struggle, redemption and survival.
Just a simple gathering of the Gay & Lesbian Activist Association of New Birch and Sipsboror (GLAABS) and we plunge down a hilarious ride to perdition.
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hidden in my sack of cherrystones" -amazing!
~Butch
really enjoyed KoD's legend of the black sun, Sage ...
Chrissy
(from Night's Silence after the Daytime's Violence)
She sees it again ' it's is a Quickening: She picks up the cigarette and he extends her a light: A straight flint stone tool. In the friction of circular parts, in a triangle's fraction, fire is born. A quickening: oil and wick, a candle lit and her cigarette sparkles and splits. Wisps exhaled dance like ghosts in smoke rings and gentle white spirits leave smiling upright, straight through the shuttered casement. They could flutter the clouds dizzy and float where stories could write themselves, and this is where she writes hers...