Behind closed doors. 


 The act itself is an art and with art, it’s open to any interpretations and understandings. It’s not one dimensional and this is your only option or this is the only way you can see it. It doesn’t work like that. The creation is meant to inspire. To stir. Bodies were made to explore. How does it make you feel? And then we build off that. And we explore. Dig deep. We converse. We begin to create. And I think that’s where we begin. The mistake is thinking that love making comes naturally. That’s not true nor is it fair, for yourself or your partner.  It’s never about the love. It’s not about that. We need to become better readers. Better listeners. The root of the problem lies in the communication between lovers. The openness. The body’s ability to perform is based off the communication process. Pay attention to what’s said and how it’s said. You have to be able to understand your partner sexually and emotionally. Validation is necessary. A person’s sexuality is to be treasured and respected. There’s so much beauty in the art of sex, love making. So it’s not about love, it’s about, can you reach each other. It’s about what is behind those closed doors. Does it make you feel more than just an empty vessel for your partner to achieve their goal? Is there an effort being given from your partner even though the day was long and stressful? Or is this just a dead body hoping within 5 minutes the act will be over? Is there a connection? You can create a connection. It’s not a far fetched ideology when it comes to sexual chemistry.

I’m learning. I promise.

Crazy. Stupid. Love. 


I am watching this movie and smiling. Like full on smiling because I still believe in love. I love love.I know you’re not supposed to worship or put the one you love on a pedestal. Never make them larger than life. Love them humbly and fully. Yea I get it. I am aware. I am also aware that although you will never experience love the way you did the first time, but when you meet someone that sparks that flame all over again, how can you not feel like the world has been rebuilt from the ground up? How can you not feel the earth shaking you to your core and reminding you that although it’s never as good as the first time, damnit, it’s still just as beautiful. I think I can write about you for the rest of my days, a love that escaped because fear existed. I watched a video today on the topic of fear and it moved me. It moved me to the memories of believing in the fear-less woman, in the fear-less man. The speaker introduced their fear of sky diving, the anticipation, the anxiety, the disbelief in the agreement to do such an activity but pushing through because you want to stick to your word no matter the butterflies fluttering. We work ourselves up so much only to realize there was nothing to fear from the beginning. The conversation flowed and by the end I was brought back to my days where loving you ruled. I loved you from a distance but I wish I would have loved you closer, had I been allowed to. Fears. We are getting older and I remember listening to old folks describe their loves and their regrets, wishing they had feared less in love. In life. In existence. I wanted to be your teacher of love and of life, and I put so much pressure on these thoughts that i forgot that there are plans bigger than mine. I only wanted to a woman of substance that taught the man she loved how to love. Maybe somethings just don’t work out for reasons we can’t see. I never thought about the possibilities for a soulmate to be someone I was supposed to help remember on a love I knew existed many lives before. I thought we were supposed to just recognize each other, through a kiss, through stories, through something other than a chase. I’m not saying this man is my soulmate, I’m just stuck on connection we made over 5years ago. I know you’re not supposed to put anyone on a pedestal but I was going through my pictures and I saw that I tried to recreate a picture you sent to me years ago. I smiled. It’s a sad smile though, thumbing through the memories.  I just remember wanting to love you….

Artwork: Etreinte III by Camille Alazet 

Letters to my lovers: Once we were 


I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed the sound of a man’s moan as much as yours. The raw footage of the combination of you and I, lives to forever tease the memory. To know that at once, the way we existed, the liberation of our inhibitions, allowed for our bodies to meet. There’s always been a tender admiration in the physicality’s of you. Hushed laughter escaping because the self becomes conscious but permission is given to quiet the fears. To quiet the mind. To quiet the lips. Kisses were always jaded. Always hiding behind the feeling of the familiar. Logic is forgotten when the body decides on its desires. We learned. We taught a language to each other. Hieroglyphic messages left against the flesh. Serving as memories and wars between lovers. The barriers broken to reach you, still on repeat even years later. I have yet to find another man who’s sound of pleasure became a melody I loved to hear. I love the vulnerability of a man. It’s beautiful and pure. Soft hints of delight. Combined with the masculinity of you and I begin to just melt. In your hands. Into you. Traces of my love become creamy satisfaction and those moments that escape you… your lips, your hands… at times I am so full of you that, the options of having parts of your whole will never suffice in the way we make art. Stay here with me tonight, just once more. It’s never enough to just hear my name in the darkness.