Monthly Archives: February 2020


You think—

if only my life was

replete with incident

like a novel, but then you

twist the kaleidoscope of

memory and all sorts of

events tumble out that

prickle your skin with

shame or flush you with

embarrassment or

stiffen or moisten you, but

they’re all just pieces of

coloured time and maybe

you can rearrange them into a

book, or pare them like a

bone or a pencil into a

poem, or perhaps you would

prefer one last twist to find a

better pattern or

smash it and sweep the

whole damned mess of

shards into the

oubliette of forgotten.

First Time

There is a hesitation, the

first time, between

lips and cheek: too

close to the ear a

suggestion; too close to

lips a promise

uncertain to be kept.

Feral Truths?

“His Totem the Fox”

Jocelyn Brooke “The Image of a Drawn Sword”


When the wind abates and the

school-run suddenly stops and the

workers come home, it’s

quiet here, many of the

men on second marriages with

children sequestered elsewhere,

visitation rights evidently

negligeable, some balloons and

banners popping up on doorframes, soon

tattered by that damned wind, but

otherwise no breath of

impropriety, no quietly

opened and closed doors, no

secrets seeping onto the

silent street.


But what if I was the

cat that is not ours but

comes and goes for

food and attention, or the

fox whose bark

echoes in the dark,

sniffing cold air and

smelling feral truth?

O What a Blow that Phantom Gave Me

Dead lovers never quite leave you do they?

Fridayam's Blog

A pallid house, moon-engulfed,
corridors beget more corridors:
where are the lights? Stupid,
there are no lights
only the monstrous goboes of the
windows, latticed like prison bars
black on white, like the movies.
Which movie am I in?
Why am I running, sweating,
terrified? Because from a
gust, a creak, a rustle I made
the man who killed me.
His knife is sharp and I know
he is behind me as I run full tilt
into you, dead 30 years:
cropped hair, roman nose, eyes brimming.
“O Finn, you found me!”
And hot in my hands you kissed me
boundlessly, your tongue a
technicolour thing in my mouth,
aching to penetrate into my
monochrome life instead of
being stranded here,
a ghost in a dream.

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Temperature's Rising

Sexy Times ~ Warm Feelings ~ Hot Flashes ~ All That


The Anne Billson blog

A Submissive Wife

Married Submissive, Exploring the kinky side of life.

Life of a Kinky Wife

Marriage with a Twist

The Weaver of Words

"Poetry is what happens when your mind stops working, and for a moment all you do is feel." -Atticus

Works of an Unsettled Mind

Stories, Poems and Titillating Epitaphs


In happiness my words I lack, in grief they overflow.

My Liver's Trying to Kill Me!... Oh Wait.

A Journey to a Healthier Me.

The Wild Heart of Life

"He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life." ...James Joyce

Veronica Love-Wylde

Erotic Poet and Artist - Welcome to My Sensual World

my controlled ascent

living and loving as a married submissive in my D/s marriage


A quoi servent les images que l'on ne montre pas ?

Jupiter's Lair

Because a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste...

A Quest for the Uncliche

Dream. Explore. Learn. Repeat.. Let's traverse on the paths less taken and explore whole new worlds

Sex Matters

Don't Lose it