Dreams Underfoot: UnquietDreams' Dark Whimsy

[UnquietDreams]

Spirit, George Roux (1885)

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

I want to tease you, to touch you, until you beg me break you.

 

[UnquietDreams]

I love it when you read to me...

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

French - quatre- (four) + vois (way). This is considered an obsolete, dead word, but it really shouldn't be.

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

I want you to feel how much I want you. Feel me harden for you, pressed against your cheek.

 

[UnquietDreams]

I want you to hear me moan for you...

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

I want to make out with you, but also slowly finger you until you can't concentrate on kissing...

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

Some see submission. I say they missed the point. Service is love.

 

[UnquietDreams]

There is something so erotic to me about the urgency of not waiting to get undressed. One of the most erotic compliments I ever received was from a woman who had gotten off to something I had made. She had said she couldn't wait, and that her pants and panties were still around her ankles.

That was so fucking hot...

 

[UnquietDreams]

 

[UnquietDreams]

I have said it many times -- there is nothing sexier than a woman who reads for pleasure.

 

[RosewoodTulip]

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I feel like I've been summoned

 

[AngelicaS1780]

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I feel like I've been summoned

I think mine would need to say,
Huge Tits
Big Heart

Because I’m not sure if they’re good, but I do know they’re huge.

 

[dawn_of_night]

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I love it when you read to me...

Same

 

[dawn_of_night]

 

[UnquietDreams]

Small Kindnesses, by Danusha Laméris​

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

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​

These are the little things that keep a society flowing together -- the punctuation. Commas, creating the pauses and nuances of life. Commas of compassion, of civility, of kindness, of empathy. This is the love of one another, in small pieces we almost never pay attention to.