Regret

"The Ace of Swords...card of truth, justice, fortitude and...cognition...reversed. There is confusion, ignorance and faulty diagnosis. A violent, self destructive temper. An intellect that gets in the way of finding solutions. Headaches could be present. Sometimes foggy thinking. There is violation, overkill and domination. The Warrior of Coins...card of cautiousness and thoroughness...the card of a man who knows what he wants, and hold back nothing to get it. The Eight of Wands... card of quick action, a conclusion and news...reversed. Quarrels, hasty actions that are regretted. There could be a foggy situation where the right action is anyone's guess. There is confusion, and soon you will find that all your arrows are spent, you left empty handed and still at a loss. This card warns not to make any hasty actions, for those actions will only bring about negative results...Beware of recklessness. Ten of Swords...card of bottoming out and ruin. It can also be a card of a victim mentality, or... martyrdom. It denotes a final choice. A destruction, a defeat. Again confusion is laced in this card. There is a decision to be made, and once made, there will be no turning back. This, paired with your last card, also whispers that now is not the time to make that decision. It could mean failure and ruin in all that you know."

Z

I can feel hands on my thighs,
but I don't turn my head yet.
The soft warmth of her mouth
closing over me, and the curl of
her tongue sliding up the shaft
to then contour and bring me in
more securely. The small noises
from the back of her throat, and
the sensation of her dark curls
against my skin. The scent that is
uniquely her filling my awareness
so that I told hold of the sides of her
face and keep her directed toward
her task...

"crave...your work".

"...whether he understands it or not..."

1, 2, 3

"regret nothing"

She's whimpering now, unable to
speak, so I pull her back and she
begs with her eyes, her parted lips.
I draw her up as I roll my shoulders
off the couch, sliding my hands down
to catch hold of her waist her hips. She
sinks upon me, her head falling back.

4, 5, 6

"Yours, Madaline"

My face is buried in her hair,
the pins are strewn about.
Her hips roll, keeping her in that
self-imposed rhythm as my breath,
teeth, and fingers ply themselves to
peaks mirroring, in their hardened state,
the length of me upon which she plunges
herself. Twisting, writhing, moaning,
kneading, tasting, gasping
for breath.

7, 8, 9

Tears are coursing down her cheeks,
and just as she begins to reach that
place of bliss I tell her no. She sobs,
and with the few final thrusts I sate
my own needs, leaving hers to continue.
Drawing out, my hand takes over,
touching her surely, but barely. I am
behind her, covering her with part of
my body, yet leaving her more naked
and exposed. She shudders. My hand
edges out, giving a final course to that
one, single point.
Needy.
So close.
Aching.
I tell her to sleep,
knowing she will not
reach that state
again for some time.

I roll over, dazed, and see daylight
coming through my window. The
ahn seems later than normal, and
I look upon the waterclock sitting on
my desk. It is


10