The Train Journey

There is a man, who sometimes talks to me on the train,as he travels home. He has been silent for a while and I suspect the following...(please feel free to choose),

1. He is abroad, work related.

2. He is abroad, personal satisfaction and personal time in remote deserts and remote jungles.

3. He has decided to date the very pretty girl on the train.

4. He is drowning in work and the need to save people.

5. He has decided not to be in touch.

No matter what...I miss him and I can remember every moment and every fragment of our time.

The Concrete Wall

Towering over the consumed land,
Its shadow falls.
Crushes.

Hard and tall.
No face.
No skin.
All seeing
Eyes.

Hard and brittle
Crumbling retina.
Detached.
Blind.

Hope upon the water.
Walking upon the water...

The Promised Land
Drowned
Her.

Where is David?
To take the Israeli Goliath
Down?

Absolutely Beautiful

She sent Jones a photo last night.

Just a head and shoulders shot,

...in black and white.

No make up.

Just pyjamas and a fresh shower.

He looked at it.

'Absolutely beautiful,' he replied.

She still does not know what to say.

I Have Time For You

'At this moment, I have all the time in the world for you,' he said.

She smiled.

She reflected upon the sordid deeds of her day.

She melted away into the linguistic purity of that moment.

'No one has ever said that to me...it's beautiful,' she said.

'I want to talk to the mind behind the words,' he said.

She saw him. Just then. She saw him smiling.

Missing Your words

'I love reading yours'
he said.
'Do you have a lover?'
She looked at his words and swallowed her sadness.
'No, no lover at all.'
'Someone in mind,' he said.
'Yes,' she said.
'Although the small matter of a huge ocean prevents him from lying in my bed.'
'Small matter, indeed,' he said.

The matter is hard, of rock and historical impact.
Yet, she sees a way through.
She strikes at the stone and sees the sparks fly.

It's Not Sex When...

...you have dinner and the movies.
It's not sex when you have lunch.
It's not sex when you buy him a novel...(his favourite novel at that...)
It's not sex when you visit the Academy.
It's not sex when you smile and laugh over yellow label champagne.
It's not sex when you talk in Green Park.
It's not sex when you confess you snore.
It's not sex when he leaves you to soak in the bubbles.
It's not sex when you still hear his words.
It's not sex when he calls after midnight...a continent away.

I know what you're going to ask.
Don't ask it.
I just know...it's not just sex...
It's far more beautiful than that...

It's a smooth warmth that tickles my toes and prickles my skin...
That lets me rest
Comfortably

Inside my skin.

Drowning Words

They have drowned.
His words.
Into the huge water.
Liquid darkness
Seeps over the ink

Severs the link
I have
With him.

They have flotsamed
through...
Distant and faltering as

A satellite shakes his words.
A distant star
That knows where you are..

A call comes through.

Dreams colliding.
Voices smiling.
Words now floating.
Thoughts are gliding
Upon the smooth dark water.

He makes me thirsty
For words.
He make me drink
Him
In.

(c)prettyintelligentprincess

Words Over The Water

Cold evenings
cold nights...

Still at the office.
Still

Wishing you were here.

Restless and awake.
No sleep, not for the right reasons.
Ah, no. Not for the right reasons.
(She smiles and ebbs with tiredness.)

She fidgets and turns.
Words all jangling
Memories pivoting...the pieces falling
In

Amongst the jigsaw.
Webs and words weaving and meshing.
Webs and words.

Silky lines...
Invisibly floating and gliding
Over the water.

(Prettyintelligentprincess)

Moments In Time

He is so much better than I ever could be.
So much more successful.
Assured.
Revered.

I cannot give you the words to describe him.
Yet, I have, when uninhibited.
When frank and open and mostly unaware of who he is; what he does.

Feeling deeply satisfied to know I remember every moment.
Feeling quietly contemplative that he should spend time with me.

That he did spend time.
With me.

Compartments and Empty Spaces

This is beautiful space; clear and crystal and smooth, yet mountainous, vast, intimate.

Intricate, just like our minds, memories, hopes and our pasts...set in granite and in stone; foretelling unknown futures and meandering through dramatic landscapes from time to time.

I miss the calmness of a sensible mind I can call my own.
I miss the fulfillment of spaces that should be filled by the sensibilities of me.
I miss the feeling of ignorance and of normality, whatever that should be.
And it's not me.

His tender and concerned words filtered through tonight.

I miss him.

Moon and Sky and Bats

It was lovely,
tonight,
alone outside in the still stillness,
as the birds sang and wove the threads of their tunes around the quiet of me..

She shone so brightly-
So loudly-
She sang too.
Silently

as the bat swooped and swerved across the deep blueness of darkness
that covered my sky.
Brightly ebbing she was...the moon,
that covered my head,
that wrapped and
fed
my mind with the pictures
I needed
to write the words I do,
unheeded.

'Go look at the moon,' she said.
'Trying to sleep,'he said.

Yet she is still illuminated.

© Prettyintelligentprincess

Pictures In My Head

It's the rumble of the train beneath the ground.

It's the brightness of sunlight.

It's the heaviness of the curtains.

It's the height of the mirror!

It's the silence of his footsteps.

It's the study of his gaze.

It's the sound of his voice.

It's the art of translation.

It's the peace of sleep.

It's the warmth of pleasure.

It's the smell of awakening bodies.

It's the feeling of him touching my skin.

It's the sound of his patience.

His patience and me

© Prettyintelligentprincess

Hungarian Ark

Listening to his silence is hard.
Touching and remembering is plaguing my head.
Always; always I remember and it is my curse, jarred.
I try to forget and now Kasztner is there, documented...
making me see red.

I do this.
I try not to and usually I succeed.
Usually it's an ice maiden that feels the need
shares her greed,
never takes heed...
But sometimes, sometimes...
I do this,

I envelope the mind of the man,
I capture his voice,
I carry his words
Inside my swirling head
consuming my loud and colourful pictures
that remember not only the sanctuary of our bed,
but all that was said...

It is there.
Weeping and dancing and shouting.
It is there.
Intricately inside my head.
© Prettyintelligentprincess