Meander

Let us meander.
Creatively.
Let us meander with words.
Let us merge the pictures
and thoughts.
Let us meander slowly
through the chapters
of the previous time.

Let us do
just
that.

A weaving of words.
A slender blend of slumber.

Mood and time...

Time...
tick and tock...
spaces on the white face as the sharp pointers
move
closer.

Underground

Jones: In underground

Me: Underground. Below and dark.
Cocooned, enclosed, tunnelled.....
tunnel vision,
wetness seeping down the walls
and the racing of the noise.

Have you reached daylight yet? Have you?

He shielded his eyes in the brightness.

Childhood Terrors

At night.
Terrors of childhood..in words
actions
darkness.
Fear and the futility.

He walked in.
Pulled the duvet off the 7 year old girl.
Dragged her out of the bed.
Dragged her out of the room.

And.
Made her sit.
In the darkness
on a high stool
at
the
end
of
the dark hall.

No words at all.
she was frightened.
she was confused.

'You are not asleep,'

Her mother said nothing at all.

Her parents,
(her parents who should have protected her),
loved her?

close the door on their room
leaving their little girl behind,
in the dark.
In the cold.

Some time later,
the little girl crept back into her bed.

She cried alone in the dark.

She held her duvet tight
making her fingers and thumbs ache
for weeks after...

A futile attempt to protect herself.

She never slept well.
Especially after that.

An Avatar Overview

Last of the Mohicans is blended slowly with a drop of The Magic Faraway Tree....
Sprinkle a spoonful of Alien....
Then add a teaspoon of Tarzan...
Mixed with the beauty of an earthly Abyss.
Without the ocean.

It's not at all bad Mr Cameron.

Prepositional Mind.

My mind is with him.
Near.
Over.
Under.

Next to him.
Beneath,
Below
And above

Never
Distant.

Spilling

Falling, smooth and warm,
Indelible inky thoughts
Ribbon and swathe
Her blank page.
Embedding,
Seeping,
Drying.

Spillage.
An alphabet
Leaking oily secrets
Slipping and spilling
Into black sticky glass.

Reflecting
nothing.

Ghost Writer

There is a ghost who writes
for her...when she lets the words fall
Onto the fluttering page.

There is a ghost who plays
for her... when she swoops over the letters
Across the glimmering screen.

There is a ghost who opens her eyes,
Who makes her wonder,
Who makes her try -
to remember
how...
those words
were born.

Late and Later

Hot....

warm actually,
- the water on your face when you cry.


Letting go.


Slow stream.
Subtle.

Warms the skin.

The skin I am in.

The skin I use as sin
as I brim -

...over.

Please -
catch
what
falls.

Bears and Beauty

'He does not feel the same,' she thought.
'He has beautiful women attached to him...an attachment.'

Beautiful.
Really beautiful.

'I feel a little silly,' she thought.
'I wonder what he thinks,' she wondered.

Wondered some more.
A silly girl.
Over rated.
Over emotional.

Over.
Over.
Over.

She wonders over the moments and then sees his attachments.
Beautiful.
Just there.
Beneath him.
She even sees the dates...

Beautiful eyes in beautiful poses....

'Empty women never did it for me,' he said.

'So curvy women do?' she mused.

They are so blindingly beautiful... she chokes.

She is looking out of her window.
Heavy drapes are drawn.
Hiding. She hides behind the curtain.
Again.

Spirals and swirls of confusion smoke into her air

of her

of her.

Naive and still her.

Empty

No words at all.
The space is empty.
The mind is empty.

I feel empty.

Hollow.
Naked.
Fragile.
Brittle.

I need to feel the moment.
The touch.
The silence.

Touch me,
please.

Invisibly.

Here, There , Nowhere

'I am here,'she said.

'Are you there?'he said.

'I am here,'she said,'but I don't know if you are there.'

'Are you there ?'she said.

Once Upon A Time...

There was a young man...who had flitted around the world. He had been hurt, by women...so he flitted and floated by.He discovered sexual diseases and sexual vices as his money rolled in...until the dotcom crash.
He married a young girl; 17. He picked her up in Beijing...she was learning how to be a prostitute and he pitied her, took her in.She fell pregnant..and his Muslim family were rocked and shocked. Yet he had so much money, he was okay...he could lead his life, giving his parents everything they needed.
Unfortunately, she was Mongolian...

beautiful, slim....young...Mongolian.

He married her.

Four children later.
14 Years later.

She has...had a relationship in Hong Kong....had a two year affair in her home town. Aborted her lover's child. Confided in her husband...her love for her lover; her plans for a family with her lover; her feelings about her lover. Run off with her lover and returned...flaunted it...but her herpes has also refused to diminish. Her husband gave her that.

Her husband is going mad.
It is madness.
Swirling.

He is serving her divorce papers soon. She has no idea. He is collecting the evidence and is taking the children to the land of Maple Syrup....without her...

Hopefully he will live happily ever after.
My life seems so much calmer...

His Words

Finally, I had words tonight from Jones.

It makes me feel so good.

And calm.

He has been away...

The Question Of Life....

'Is it better to live as a monster or to die as a good man?'

Is it?

Naughty Porn Girl

Last night I watched porn and became naughty.
Very.

It was delicious actually and I love it.

Wetness between my thighs as I slink into the marital bed is a little sad, I know...but wonderfully restful.

Easter Eggs Breaking News....

It's been a difficult few days.

Firstly Mr Home Office keeps sendimg messages. I am not interested in the fervour of his attentions. We met. We fucked. We parted and all is done. Yet he still persists.

Secondly, I am au-pairless until at least Friday...this volcano in Iceland is becoming a pain. No flights and she has a ticket for Thursday, but I am not holding my breath! I am supposed to be seeing Peter Kay on Friday too at Liverpool!!!!Need the childcare...

My thoughts have been a little diverted to Mr First Love...currently in the UK...due to aforementioned volcano eruption, his flight to 'M' not available until at least Friday with BA...and his life is utterly bizarre, it will need a new post.

We have talked and chatted but not met and will not meet. That is not the way of things...

Jones is still here...still in my phone, my head, my thoughts. His company has now been acquired by '1984' and Orwellian practices are prevalent. Therefore we cannot send texts about bananas, sandwiches, thighs or orgasms. We cannot verbalise our sexy lust. Big Brother will freeze his Blackberry I think!

Yet I love to receive his words...they are feathers around my head.

And back to the Building tomorrow...and 'The Bitch' has only 14 more weeks...I feel silently delirious, yet pity those who will be under her charge from September.

Clear Skies

They are beautiful, the clear skies above.
An empty space.
A blank canvas....
Not a plane trail in sight.
Not a sound.
Not a gleaming metal bird...

All is still silent.
Wonderful.

We must travel the planet keeping our feet on the ground.

Silent Satellites

They are silent
Those satellites we use -
Jones and I.
No words must tumble out
across the water
or behind the glass.

All
must
stay
still
...and silent.

And empty.

Where are
Our words
Falling?

When ...

When he listens
When she's there
When he knows she shares

Her body.
When he wonders
When he feels
When the moment rocks slowly
When he reels
Her in.

When he looks at the stone
He has too much sin
To throw what his hand holds within.

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.