Month: July 2017

The Researcher

The way she approached her research
tenacious
never gave up
thorough.
It was always a pleasure
to work with her.
Sense of humour
confident in her abilities
professional.
Yet…..

The way she ate a melon
had always made him
smile
she knew the effect on him.
He needed to have her
at his table
on a picnic
by a pool
on a train
in his car
in his bed.

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Eating Fruit

 LIPS3 Eating Fruit

Tight, pink and wild, they sway to a gentle movement
stretched over a bed large enough to satisfy anyone.
Only the gentle sound of sighs broke through the silence of the morning,
as an accompaniment to the soft sound of the amber flesh
used to arouse and awaken.

Oh, to taste from tip to toe.
Of knowing when to start,
to sharing what you know.

Fruit always tastes sweeter in the glimmer of first light.
When hands, fingers, mouths are slow and bodies are tight.
To taste the flesh with the tip of a tongue,
To open and reveal,
To caress, to excite, a simple touch of delight.

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CUFACE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Say you want to Break Up

‘Break up’, you say you want to ‘break up’.                                                                                           I would fall apart, fall to pieces, become a                                                                               fragment in your story.                                                                                                                            Do not fracture my heart,                                                                                                             shatter my illusions or splinter my soul.

You say you want to break up.

Perhaps we could explode,                                                                                                                    blow up or blow ourselves apart;                                                                                                     better than letting it crumble,                                                                                                   deteriorate, decay, decompose at a slow, slow pace.

I don’t want to rot in your memory,                                                                                                 perish the thought, or collapse into                                                                                                                an emotional wreck.

You were such a wonderful degenerate in bed;                                                                                        I think we should teeter toward an                                                                                                                        informal bust up, rather then be smashed to smithereens.

I say I want to break up.

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NUDE400

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Conversation

It started with a strawberry, cream and grapes.

It swayed to the beat of possibilities, subtle possibilities.

A short line here, an extended line there, a pause.

Suddenly it received a second rush of energy

with the arrival of a mango.

It developed and drifted onto a higher plane

but later the rain pushed in, the energy drained away.

Later it came, with the wave of a steady hand, to a satisfied conclusion.

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CONVERSATION 2a IMAGE

 

 

 

 

 

The Conversation – two

It started with a stroll through the park,
then quickly developed into a situation which created a spark.
A thought passed through a mind to excite, to receive an invite.

Someone not too far away imagined cries, deep sighs, a movement over thighs
as the situation meandered through non verbal communication.

Remember the lost lover’s lament
Be kind, turn on a mind, let a seeker find.

 

My Back Pages (for Sharon)

MOSCOW 1.jpg

        Everyone has a soulmate …

….somewhere; only problem is that we could be dealing with thousands of miles of travel as opposed to someone who lives just around the corner.

For some, their soulmate might be in the middle of Moscow. Not cheap or easy to get a cab back home to Blighty from there.

I did Moscow by bus once to see a soulmate: not too difficult.
You take the 32a from Victoria, a 33 out of Paris Nord, change at Stuttgart to 7b, then a Moscow bound 2A. Though the last time I did that journey my soulmate was out!

It was along time ago, as Dylan said, ‘but I was younger then than now..’

I was a man of action: climbing mountains, dangling from helicopters, fighting wolves…
…. and that was just to get to my job at the BBC studios in Shepherds Bush.

Was it worth it for the romance? Er, not after three days on a bus. There was a long way to go before the caring, loving, sharing would start or surface.

On the Moscow bound bus we had dogs, monkeys, tramps all riding for free on the roof…. and that was just the number 49 bus from Sheffield to Victoria.

Moscow Monica was kind though, she shared food, she would have meat, fish, fresh fruit which was rare for Moscow. I sometimes survived on cornflakes and fruit.
Her house was modest compared to St Johns Wood but it was home for her and at times the garden shed was where she she wanted me to be …. but I’d rather not say what went on there. Though I can tell you, I soon got rid of the goats, I wasn’t sharing a bed with those characters.

Anyway, as you the reader (well I hope you’re out there somewhere) will have guessed it didn’t work out. Love is all you need is not true, you need a shower, bed, cotton sheets, a kitchen and food other than cornflakes everyday. Though at times breakfast was romantic apart from the one eyed cat sitting on the table waiting for you to finish your food.

I did the journey six times. Monica did warm to me eventually but then two guys, hunting types, from Outer Mongolia arrived. Is was either me or them. They had guns, knives, horses. I had two out of date copies of the Radio Times. Who would a girl choose?

I returned to Blighty, head intact, heart in one piece, my foot in plaster.

The Plaster?

Well, we did have sex in the garden shed but have you tried that with six goats looking on and and a scythe hanging from the wall? Don’t try it, it was a foolish idea.

As the Russians say,..

goats in the shed,
comrades in the bed.

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Start of an occasionally series of writing short stories in one session with little editing.

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