The Book of Vasche Vexvelt

Vasche Vexvelt. The Mouth. What a Mouth. By Moreno Franco

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To All My Women. The Mouth. What a Mouth

“Son Nefes” (Last Breath)- by İbrahim Özgür - from “Tangolar”.
Donna Darkwolf with her Egyptian Mouth of Hotly Promised Desires

“There’s a lady who knows / all that glitters is gold
And she’s buying a Stairway to heaven
And when she gets there she knows / If the stars are all closed
With a word she can get / what she came for -

Memory: My dark-haired Corazón, This is how I describe and recall you -

The  Mouth. What a Mouth

This was a mouth of secret, hidden mirth. The corners were always just another muscle twitch away from a little smile. Secret. Inward. People who talk about the Mona Lisa smile, don’t know
The Cherub cat is only a term in the Angel Tiger. anything – until they have seen this mouth. The lips being what some fashion artists refer to as “bee-stung”.

A mouth that could lift at one corner, with a knowing, side-glanced smile - in a fashion I have only ever seen repeated by the others of you, and no where else. A mouth that could make a small moue of disappointment, that could cause any man change his mind about what ever it was he had done or was about to do, or wouldn’t do.

The mouth of Hotly Promised surrender, The Mouth of Utter Desire.
The mouth of Scintillating Sarcasm and Dire Wrath.
The Mouth of Saintly Benediction and the Voice of All Dark Fears Born.
The Mouth of Loves Love of Love.

That mouth!

It is a mouth made for kissing. Developed by kissing. Destined to kiss the stars goodnight at the end of the Universe. Oh it is a mouth - so capable of many other things too. And still is after all these eons passed.

A mouth that smiled just a smile. The invincible soft smile. The smile that people attribute to the insane, or to some kind of spiritual depth. To be sure though: it is that smile I spoke of earlier, that was molded from our secret heart of our very private experience of loving. A smile like our own smile appears on the occasional face. I imagine that to be how we recognized each other. One knows one.

We Know Each Other. Already.

You exude sex. It oozes out of every pore in your skin, it shines off your hair and dances at the corners of your mouth, coils itself around your arms like a shawl as you move, slitheres around your waist like a wraith and sways off your hips in waves like radio-active particle emissions. And those legs-of-a-racehorse stride with the challenge of sex.

I often imagined your feet leaving sexually charged foot-prints in the cement side-walks of the cities we marched through. Smoldering and melted from the sheer pressure of the weight of the galaxy’s passion in your blood.

The buildings etiolated and blistered from your passage. Sex carries in the undertones of the timbre of your voice and vibrates in your throat when you laugh. It excites and intimidates.

It’s promise comes off your breath as strong as garlic. Its suggestion lurks in the tilt of your wrist. Its threat rises in the shift of an eye brow. Vanishes with the susurration of silk stockings, as you turn on your heel and go -

“Only with my consent”. Arrives laughing, offering up your sweet consent: I said no, I did not mean “NO”. You Know. Kiss me Lupo,
Don let me go - love me - hold me - Sway with me - quien sera - quien sera - Lupo.

- and then marching into the bed room like Boadicea leading the Anglican hordes. Or more spectacular!
Helen of Troy – ready to launch a million sperms, and whipping the towel off yourself, like a toreador - ”torro-O-O-O!”

And then leaping onto the bed with the ferocity of a predator.

OR -

While I am in bed reading, you sort of ‘get my attention’ by stepping astride of me and squatting down between my face and my book. Me meanwhile pretending that I am trying to still read. Ducking lower to continue reading between your thighs – until I could go no lower.
And then you had me - in a vise.

Life is A Vice

I have an idea that certain women are turned on by freedom, and men who are unattached and free – and they ache to end it. In themselves - for themselves.
And so keep the Freedom.
You did so many good things for me, to me, with me.

Your pre-orgasmic singing was a joy. Like the call of the wild.
But the PRICE?!!

“Don’t confuse balance with symmetry”
Life in My Fathers House

Never mind. Let us go and see some >

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