When you touch a woman like you’re supposed to—with passion dipped in reverence—the whole world hears it.
The forest floor.
The bustling city streets.
And the world shifts into a balance that feels…right.
The feminine rises.
The masculine bows.
He stops, falters, and finds his heart.
He softens, allowing himself to be absolutely transformed by the blazing softness he glances in her eyes.
He begins to become the man he always wanted to be.
For touching her is transcendent. Transformational. It’s like nothing else. There is no preparation for the moment he feels the suppleness of her skin and—
Brought to his knees by the fragrance of her being,
Pulsing in front of him like cherry-red nectar of a lotus flower,
Swaying her hips, laughing out loud, and inviting him into the fire of the world she carries inside her.
Nothing can prepare him for the moment when he realizes he loves her…
A love that is pure and true—ripening swiftly, a strawberry glistening, ruby-like, in the noonday sun.
It’s the kind of love that makes you rich, down to your bones, your cells, the ecstatic fibers of your DNA.
It splits all the walls there once were—and makes pain into art.
Uncertainty becomes a vibrant springtime. Fear morphs into a delicate wildness that speaks to you in the most unspeakable way.
To make love to a woman—it’s not about a performance. A cheap thrill. Or a victory.
It is all about what happens when you are
As you lean in and cup the sides of her face with your hands
And cherish her with the exquisite entirety of everything that’s inside of you;
As you are brave enough to whisper how much you care, allowing yourself to be undone, for this woman to pull the poetry out of you—
Because she will.
With sincerity written in the sides of her smile, she ignites warmth and feeling to take root, for the waters inside you to flow again. The epic oceans of who you are—no longer at a standstill, they begin to gush and roar, as they are meant to, my sweet man.
Relief, oh, sweet relief! Rain, sweat, and chills by the soft cadence of candlelight. Ribbons of your heart soar out with a gust that stings your eyes with the salt of the most precious tears.
To make love to a woman is to stop moving so fast
But it is not to just take your time. It is to go outside of time itself and surrender, to melt into the filaments and flames and fibers of the unseen, crashing into the glorious edges of the universe itself.
It is to go so slowly that you feel everything—and erupt into a world of pleasure.
To make love to a woman is to go mad for a moment. It is to throw away all the bullsh*t lies you were ever told. It is to find a new truth.
It is to be daring enough to contact ecstasy.
It is to want union.
It is to be naked on all levels.
Yes. She can tell when you’re not fully there. Don’t burden her with the responsibility of contacting you when you’re far away—you know how to show up. So do it.
To make love to a woman is to swim in the mystery as you hold her tight.
It is to stroke her stomach and help her feel safe.
It is all about what happens when she arches her back, as you read her face, and gently circle her inner thighs,
And kiss lips that encase entire galaxies,
Rubies that spill waters of truth in thick darkness and daylight.
Your mouth meets hers
And you go there—
To the deep, to the beauty, to the pain, to the writhing center of truth and nothingness, to decay, to purity;
To the place that makes everything new again,
Tenderness spilling from your fingertips to tell her with each touch how much you care
To make love to a woman starts with her soul
Taking in the desirious depths of who she is
It starts by breathing in the beautiful, complex mystery of who she is
And it ends on her skin—
Not the other way around.
To make love to a woman starts with her heart—holding space with those strong hands of yours—so she can open, petal by petal,
Unfolding naturally in front of you
At her own pace.
For she is living, breathing art—a delightfully fleshy masterpiece—not to be rushed or taken for granted.
Her becoming, her pleasure, her blossoming will take as long as it takes.
And every moment is a lifetime to be enjoyed.
To make love to a woman is to die at the hands of who you once thought you were,
It is to seep into the emerald crevices of the earth
And taste the fine powder of the miky way itself.
It is to trust life and death and the swiftness of blooming and letting go
It is to lick her all over, and love the way she tastes.
It is to feel that love is beyond what you ever thought it was.
Can bring us
To make love to a woman is to honor the godliness in both of you.
It is to cherish her complexity
Because she is not broken or too complicated or one dimensional,
But a delicious, constantly evolving combination of a thousand things.
She is the cosmos itself, the licking waves at high tide,
She is a gentle breeze and a hurricane,
She is misting rain and hot, gushing lava.
To make love to a woman
Is to accept all her flavors
And say this:
I love how deeply you feel
I want to sit with you, there.
In emotion, in love, in truth, in wildness, draped in the palms of something bigger than us both.
To make love to a woman is born in both laughter and words, long eye gazes, intensity and raw sweetness that overtakes like a sudden downpour of fresh, warm rain.
It is write your love for her in the sky with your tears
It is to invite space for her to express how she feels, what she needs
It is to hear her
As you know, as you are certain—
That when you enter her
You enter somewhere great and mysterious
A portal to infinity
And breaks like waves
You keep your eyes locked on her
Telling her with your presence that she is safe,
That you know her,
That you are there, with her
To make love to a woman
Is not something you force or push or even try to do
It is what happens naturally, when you are aligned
When you sit with integrity in your own being
And are brave enough to take in
The potency of
Everything else is possible.
When we are reverent
And come together
In this way
We can exalt
Even if for a mere moment
Into the place where art is born.
The place where poems crash,
And stars speak,
And hearts gush with the kind of truth
That tastes like ecstasy
We have waited an eternity for.
To make love to a woman