The Swell: A Prose-Poem-Letter

Dearest Larissa,

I am beginning to feel the swell of anticipation, the moment when, out in the Pacific, bodysurfing, I can see emerging from a quiet surface sheen of ocean the rounding of water that is so suggestive of possibility, when I begin recompassing my body in the right position to catch the wave, knowing without even thinking about it, the feel, the rush, the joy of getting caught up in the curl of the wave, as it crests, and then propels me forth into a long slide, then into the froth and foam of the plunge down, the crash of the wave, a body tossed, a soul turned.

I love how, in our time together, we begin so softly and gently, but then it all coils up into such intensity, as I love witnessing your desire and need, and feeling my own, the stripping down, the kissing, the caressing leading up to the moment when we begin whispering and mouthing words to each other, locking our eyes together, your body softened and ready to surrender, you giving yourself up to me, in your own need to receive, to take in, to be entered and filled, split open and sealed up, my thick cock again at home in your cunt, then my desire to make you feel my passion, my desire, my strength as a man in each thrust so I can feel your joy, your bliss, your power, your beauty as a woman.

Yes, this afternoon as I write, it feels different, as now, on Friday, three days away, I can feel you almost within reach, and I like imagining, your own body, as you pleasure yourself now, feeling more craving within it, your body with a steady hum inside of it, just as mine has now, the hum that begins quietly and softly, but then grows louder, just like what happens on a hike along a stream, when we first hear the sound of a waterfall, and then the sound intensifies, with the waterfall becoming more and more present, with us conjuring up images of it, as it can't yet be seen.

I love the thought of you caressing your own body, with your hands, imagining them to be mine, taking your hands along the paths, the trails, that you want my hands to follow, when you can just give yourself up to me, letting me take you, the way I want to take you, your words giving me that sanction, that desire, that need, and your eyes so eloquently affirming those words to me, when I can look into them, after you've felt my hands feed their hunger to feel your skin, with no place forbidden, with no place too intimate not to touch, with encouragement to delight in each place, each curve, each slope, touching and caressing places as much as I desire, with fingers gliding all over you, and then finally going inside of you, feeling you there so intimately in all those ways so unavailable to a man pleasuring himself, giving you those sensations that no man can feel, except vicariously, except as they echo and reverberate through my own skin from yours, except as your feeling enters my ears from your own voice, through your own words.

Yes, my dear, take me to the falls, and over them: Fuck me beautifully, ride me reverse cowgirl, give me the visuals I love, the verbals I love, as I wrap my hands in your hair, and pull, tugging you back, making you feel it, hard, harder, you fast in my grasp, I in yours, the words streaming out of you, punctuated by my thrusts, our poetry of fucking, ribald, illicit, unedited, no net of rhyme, no holding back, each thrust of mine pumping more hot, lusty words out of you, each plunge of yours priming me up.

Then into the deep we dive, gyrating into the erotic spiral, the two of us tightening up, a long breath of silence before the cry, then the letting loose: words gushing out of you, cum gushing out of me, pleasure gushing through you, through me, through us, wave upon wave, the swells hitting their crests then curling, leaving us balled up and beached, on the sand, under the sun, in a curl of kisses, pacific.




The Swell
(Very Free Verse)


When, from empty sheet,
the sheen of pacific,
there emerges a rounding of water,
our swell of anticipation,
my body recompasses
bends to the pull.

It knows the topography,
of our cresting and curl,
the spiral and whirl,
of sliding and plunge
the froth, the foam,
our bodies tossed,
my soul turned

I love redirecting myself,
on this Friday,
three days before our Monday
for our wave, our riding,
roiling up white screen,
playing hooky,
knowing surfs up,
filling these pages
with words for you.

Soon again,
on the sheets of our Motel 6 queen
there will emerge
pacific unserenity,
our swelling and cresting,
coiling up into such intensity.

I love witnessing
your desire and need,
and feeling my own,
the stripping down,
our kisses, the touches,
leading up to the moment
when whispers end,
the two of us,
eyes locked together,
mouthing the words,
your body softened,
ready to surrender,
you giving yourself to me,
in your need to be entered, filled,
taken, split open, sealed up,
my thick cock
again at home in your cunt,
my desire to make you feel
my passion, my strength
as a man in each thrust
so I can feel your joy,
your bliss, your power,
your beauty as a woman.

Dearest Larissa,
This afternoon when I write,
it feels different, and I love it.

You are almost within reach.
I like imagining your own body,
like mine, feeling more craving,
the hum no longer quiet and soft,
but more insistent, growing louder,
just like what happens when,
on a hike along a stream,
we first hear the sound of a waterfall,
and then the sound intensifies,
with the waterfall becoming
more and more present,
with us conjuring up images of it,
as it can't yet be seen.

Take me over the falls with you,
ride me reverse cowgirl,
fuck me beautifully,
give me the visual,
give me the verbal.
I'll wrap my hands in your hair
and pull and pull
hard, harder,
tugging you back
making you feel it
you fast in my grasp,
I in yours,
the words streaming out of you,
punctuated by my thrusts,
our poetry of fucking,
ribald, illicit, unedited,
no net of rhyme,
no holding back,
each thrust of mine
pumping more words out of you,
each plunge of yours priming me up.

Then into the deep we dive,
gyrating into the erotic spiral,
the two of us tightening up,
a long breath of silence before the cry,
then the letting loose:
words gushing out of you,
cum gushing out of me,
pleasure gushing through you,
through me, through us
wave upon wave,
the swells cresting,
leaving us
balled up
beached,
on the sand,
under the sun,
in a curl of kisses,
pacific.