Tag Archives: memories

The Kiss

The kiss, the wrestle of tongues,

seems uniquely human, the

need to explore that new person’s

mouth more intimate, more

intense than all those

further fumblings.

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The Flotsam Trail of Memory

I love because I love—

there is no other reason, and

reasoning cannot

undo love, with all its

tethers and tendrils, its

flotsam trail of memory

from faded photograph via

forgotten pleasures to the

cold text with its cursor

blinking in time with my heart

in a dark, emptied house.

Pre-Tanned Bodies

With the first hint of sun, the

girls with pre-tanned bodies

parade in as little as possible, their

tattoos looking ill-advised

long before they regret being

advertising hoardings for men already

making other plans, their names just

tags on dilapidated trains or

abandoned buildings, whilst

strutting through the streets, they

brush past un-inked people with

hearts on their sleeves and

never notice.

B-roads/M20/M25/A1/B-roads

It’s white-van Hell even at dawn,

but then 9-to-5 long ago

lost its meaning as

prices pushed people further and

further from work, wives

working for Gas Board or

gas bill, children texted, Skyped,

rarely seen except at weekends when the

phone still rings with demands and

threats, so I understand if you

cut me up, tailgate me, want me to

get out of the fucking way, so you can

get where you are going and

get back, hating that after 9,

after the school-run,

King Prius rules in Troy-Town.

Rumours of Comets

The Moon heard the rumours as she stared at the

amusing blue-green bauble that

endlessly revolved in her sky, sending

puny gee-gaws that she barely felt, and the

thought of comets coming excited her

dry crust, still bearing the livid bruises of the

poundings she’d endured in her youth that made her

groan and tremble and ejaculate great

gouts of her soul, times she now missed, playing

seventh fiddle to that great manwhore Sun who

always got all the best action, but she’d been a

player once, a good-time, go-to girl so maybe if she

shone alluringly, she could prove

even as a mature woman that she could still

pull the cosmic best, get what she needed, that

orgasmically wet cosmic seed.

 

White Noise

Each flake absorbs one

microdecibel of sound

squeezing the air silent

all the botheration

compressed by coldness into

white noise released

distortedly in the

sharp crunch of a

well-shod foot.

 

Chiromancy

The spackle of snow on the hills reveals the

ribs and sinews beneath the green flesh, the

lines of life and heart, the

whorls and ridges of

Earth’s bare body

dusted like a fingerprint.

Groundling

A groundling in the TV business I was

happy to sit on top of a

swaying ladder ready to drop

dead leaves on an actress

bereaved in wartime but looked up to meet the

eyes of the naked woman in her window

casually brushing her long brown hair, her

breasts swaying gently with each

languorous sweep, her gaze so

commanding that the squawk of

“Action, Action” from my

walkie-talkie went west as I gawped, a

groundling in her more

urgent play.

Email in a Bottle

It’s instant isn’t it? Unlike

telegrams or snail-mail or

smoke-signals or carrier-pigeons or

a runner’s feet slapping

bare baked earth?

There are no horse-relays involved

are there? or landslips to

frustrate, or feathered tribes to

shoot, a messenger?

Our frontiers are pervious,

aren’t they, to all our

ethereal mutterings? The

air is so full of them it is

opaque with their mist of

assignations and the

sweet musk of infidelity. They

must mingle with the drizzle I inhale

as I sit and wait and

wait for the instant reply to my

instant message.

Pity Party

Your party is dismal, the

food nauseating, the drink

doesn’t do its job, the

conversation is crushing,

circular and uncathartic, and the

guests won’t leave even though

they are all in your head.

 

Tomorrow when you

wash the dishes and step carefully over

sleeping shadows waiting for the

revel to recommence you will

wonder if you can possibly

kick the whole rabble out and

what it is they have to do to

outstay their welcome.

The Used Life

Experiments in the Art of Mastering None

365 dni w obiektywie LG

365 days a lens LG

The Waas Blog

We all have an unique story....I want to share yours!

Sauce Box

Never get lost in the Sauce

Natalie Breuer

Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.

Katya Evangeline

From Missionary to Sex Preacher and Loving It!

Sara in LaLaLand

Welcome to my world.

LittleSwitchBitch

Irish Sex Blogger • Lover of Kink, Lingerie, Strong Coffee & Sunshine •

cleareyedgirl

moments : words : images

Are You Thrilled

because the story must be told

Lapsed Catholic Wife

Rediscovering pleasure. 2016 Adventures of an Ashley Madison female

Surviving the affair....the cheaters perspective

I cheated. Yip I did it, I am not proud of it, but that won't change a thing. This is my story of me trying to survive one day at a time. No guarantees....

Back in Stilettos Again

dating, sex, relationships, & self-discovery

Let It All Go

Leaving behind the expectations of pure innocence in these musings.