Category Archives: Relationships

Presents

When I have given you enough

perfumes (though you always smell wonderful),

scarves (though you are always beautifully dressed),

books (though you are so well-read),

watches (though you are never punctual),

what then?

 

Wine? but you rarely drink;

Clothes? you find bargains where I would never look;

Jewellery? I haven’t the means to

do you justice and

Lingerie is a presumption and anyway

men are crap at sizes.

 

Perhaps all that is left is

presence.

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Chiromancer

I’ve read your palm so many times:

holding your hand on that first date and

now walking London streets; after

sex when touch seems so much more

intimate; even now when

intimacy has gone but your

slender hand seeks mine in the

silence of sleep but despite

knowing it so well I still

cannot read your future, nor

mine.

The Abcess of Absence

He swore he heard her on the

upper floor, or

at the door, her key

scratching for entry from the

outer dark, or her soft

snores in the night,

turning to his right,

hoping to feel her

spooning warmth to

heal his sores.

Mongrels

We are all mongrels:

our genes all spent time

somewhere else, on

cold tundra, windswept

steppe, damp jungle,

hot savannah, in

bogs or genteel shires,

cantonments or kraals; on

Viking ships or galleons,

slavers or dugout canoes we

spent ourselves about the world so

not one of us is pure.

Binary System

If all we are is stars, is

she then a supernova, he a

brown dwarf, they an

inchoate mass of gas

about to ignite, and is our

binary system stable or

unravelling into those

beautiful gaseous strands

beloved of those who

observe cosmic catastrophes?

A Complicated Smile

I made a joke which

elicicted a

complicated smile that

bore within it the

ghost of the

simple smile of yesterday.

Doors

Doors

My life seems full of doors:

some open, what’s beyond them

done, wanting me to stay;

some ajar, tempting, though I

know behind some lies mischief;

some are firmly closed, locked and

loaded with possibilities and dread,

leaking strange scents

 

These I sometimes attempt to open:

try all those odd spare keys, get my

screwdriver out, though I

draw the line at jemmies,

hammers or hatchets, since I would

rather be locked out than

force a door I wished I had

never opened.

 

Strangers Eyes

I held both my children

fresh from their mother

strangers eyes

searching mine for

answers I have never

quite worked out.

Candle Break

By candle-light you look like a

mediaeval Madonna, full of

thought, contemplation, perhaps a

little mourning for

what once was.

 

But am I allowed to make such a

comparison in a world full of

thought police, deciding exactly

which words I can safely use to

hymn my love?

Berlin Bed

The bed was such a world once: of

sweat and semen and the

wonderful effusions of

womanhood; of strain and stains;

contortions and cramps;

saliva and stamina;

sticky bodies entwined in

sated exhaustion.

 

But now the moonlit room

sits still: no moans or

groans of pleasure; no

pillow-muffled screams;

just the sullen

shriek of silence, the

Berlin Wall of blunt knees and

sharp elbows.

N A L I N D A

P H O T O G

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Ink is my Blood

CHARLESVAS

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Diary from a hotwife's perspective

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The Best of History, Literature, Art & Religion

The Cat's Write

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