I’m daydreaming about hands again.
I’m daydreaming about how yours are strong and mine are so small and how yours fit charmingly around my throat whilst mine claw at your back and I gasp … fuck me. And I’m daydreaming about your steadiness and my trembling and about how we both create universes with just our hands and our lips and our teeth. I’m daydreaming about how my hands would like to find yours in the dark and rest in its spaces under your ocean of blankets like an empty room waiting to be filled.
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In the future there is a small, quiet room that is just yours, where you are safe and where you are free. Your hands will finally stop trembling and you’ll be able to look up from the ground and sense the blissful peace that envelops you like an old friend. No one can come in unless you let them. No one can make you fly so close to the sun that it no longer feels like a warm hug. No one can make you become the unsung song of your short life.
In that clean quiet space, you will recover and you will endure. You will love and you will heal. I know this to be true because I am there with you. We are there together because you saved us. You saved us because you were so very brave and never stopped living. Hold on tight, my darling, and I shall see you there. Jx One lick, two lick, three lick
four? Or was it five? Kisses down my thighs Pure lust in my eyes Hands everywhere Tickling in my underwear Kisses on my neck It all started with just a peck Feelings so intense with pleasure Too many orgasms to measure Smiles One smile, two smile, three smile four? Or was it more? Having told a gent last year that I adored sushi but had never frequented a traditional sushi restaurant, he promptly took me on a date and I found myself in Covent Garden stood outside a dilapidated building; an array of folk spilling through the doors.
Being the kind of girl that's easily pleased, I was super excited. And perhaps my excitement was the cause of the utter disappointment I felt when we left 45 minutes later. There was no tingling of taste buds, no 'oh my gosh, you've gotta try this!' belted across the table, there was no foodgasm or declarations of foodlust whilst wildly holding chopsticks in the air.. And so, several hours and several beverages later, we created the following: Sushi Syndrome: To have a desire, based on expectation - an expectation based on nothing - and to find that experience disappointing. She awakes to the gleaming luminosity; sunshine filling every inch of the room and piercing through her eyelids. Last night's Bordeaux creating a faint, dull ache at the base of her skull.
Le café est nécessaire. Throwing an oversized jumper over her naked form, she treads barefoot into the kitchen and whirs the coffee machine into action whilst picking at a croissant purchased yesterday from the pâtisserie. The previous night's dinner at Chez L’Ami Jean had been delightfully indulgent; mackerel in leek vinaigrette and, following encouragement from the chef, a legendary rice pudding accompanied by salted butter caramel and crunch meringues. The memory alone stirs her salivary glands as she uncomfortably fiddles with the overly exuberant coffee machine, glad of small mercies when the espresso is safely within the china cup. Opening the doors onto the balcony, the morning air landing on her bare legs and trembling its way underneath her jumper as she shivers, she holds the coffee in her hands and looks out onto her weekend paradise; cafe terraces, limestone buildings and nattily dressed locals creating a timeless tableau like a black-and-white Robert Doisneau photo. The coffee slides down her throat like a scorching waterfall as she recalls the day before - watching Parisians uncommonly queuing for bread at Le Comptoir du Relais, snatching one of the coveted seats at Café de Flore and watching the crowds bustle by, sip, puff and pontificate, hurried waiters weaving and wending, the sublime smell of onion galettes frying, baskets of fresh herbs and lettuces, smiles from men as she fumbles through their compliments.. The faint ache evaporates in the morning sun, creating space for today's schedule; a trip to Le Marché Couvert to scoop up saucisson and perhaps a few of those macaroons that look too pretty to consume, visits to the Cartier Fondation and Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson providing just the right dose of familiar, a bite to eat whilst watching coiffed regulars kiss-kiss the maître d’hôtel. Not forgetting the trip to the Eiffel Towel during l'heure bleue to see the whole city suffused in an ethereal light. She smiles at her day ahead as though it's a slowly revealing gift; running her fingers along her thigh in absent minded bliss. One more coffee, she thinks, as she lazily makes the short distance back to the kitchen. |
AuthorThe tornado of roses, with all the chaos and less of the beauty.. Archives
December 2017
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