Dear Tsuru
You make me crazy, this wanton depiction of youth– mine gone into sunset, relived through the photography of a young man with a hard cock. Cunt fingers in the sliding culture of pussy love. Show me those rose bud sluts in October nights. On the street sexual beginnings full of cause and want. A tight debate with a bitch possessing the breath of sun and strong thighs turns my fantasy into orgasms like water.
Still frames of girls I’ll never be–pushing weight, drip and glide longer than life will allow in these moments I swallow your deep heavy imagery. My tongue full– causing want, to feed a girl, blindfold and grind commands of tales that moan. Lifted eyes refrain form slow warm pools of porn, reaching sweet anxiety, my mouth drops open, spreading throbs for your sliding tip. Pulling moans of intricacies of my day, fuck fuck– masturbate your reverberating ways.
Your archive shows, pictures manuscripts photography– pulls, kicks, breaths, chokes with a significant mission and a rare release of milky rain and sunshine nightmares. Thank you for those shards of anticipation soaked in wander land of liberation perpetually sexual symbolic in girth.
Yours,
Library Vixen
This letter is featured in NUDIEZINE Issue no.12 -the First Anniversary Issue. Go buy it.
image by Tsuru
I never have a problem barging into the ever-present “Porn or Art” debate by announcing it’s all moot, a waste of time. “Porn,” I’m always happy to preach, “Is nothing more or less than an artistic subgenre. Like any other popular subgenre, there’s a handful of real gems sprinkled over the vast manure pile. Some people get it, some people don’t.
You do. You see possibilities in the realm of human sexual expression and you’re not afraid to get in there with your guns out and take a chance or two. Poetry in porn, or vice-versa, it’s a good call, a worthy cause. Rock on, V.
Vox: I’m a relentless chance taker, even when I know it may turn horribly wrong. xo