what the wind whispers
It had to be here. It had to be now.
"Pull up a chair darling. You look like you've had a hard day."
You're too nice, I'm too bad
We're a mismatched pair
but when you're stroking my hair
I don't really mind
-------
It wasn't enough to hurt. It wasn't enough to try to remember, to pierce her body with remembering, to let pain and sadness run through her like a forest fire. It wasn't enough to make her cry. When the blues came on the radio, all she could do was sway, a melancholy smile on her face and a faraway look in the back of her eyes. That's how he found, lost in a crowded corner of a dusty nightclub, letting the vibrations of the dance floor shiver through her soul. He watched her from behind his cheap drink, a nasty mix of dry, dry gin and artificial tasting lemonade. She seemed to feel every muscle with painful intimacy, flowing through the music like a faery lost in marmalade. Sweaty bodies pressed against her, and they were nothing but pieces of the music pressing against her, moving her to the rhythms that her heart couldn't bring her to hear. And he sat and watched her, watched her with eyes glowing from the dim light and the flash of bodies and the glint of glasses.
All she saw in from behind her eyelids were the soft the glimpses of an autumn countryside graced with a quaint wooden bridge, soft in the feel of her mind, like tendrils of tenderness brushing like a lover's fingertips against her consciousness. Her body was far away, swaying to a music she couldn't hear, only feel; she was looking for her tears, looking for the dammed up lake that held her cold sadness, deep and dark and dyed in the richest blue possible.
He unfolded from his seat like a jaguar emerging from the concealing foliage of a dark tropical forest, sleek and seductive and graceful as a gentle, soft menace. The sea of undulating bodies were of no importance to him; they parted effortlessly in the wake of his confident stalk towards the woman lost in the girl in the corner. His eyes never wavered - eyes of liquid steel, reflecting deep the pulsating lights of the dance floor, smoldering with strength and vitality and simmering pride. He knew where she had gone, and he knew he would bring her back from that cold, cold lake. Gently, he drew his finger down her arm, raising little hairs as he left a searing path in her mind.
This one was not a piece of the music; this one she could not ignore. Eyes heavy-lidded, she turned, slowly, in a daze, struggling to find clarity in the ambiance of noise and sound in which she had buried herself. Her gaze was fey, almost rebellious, but he quelled it with the tiniest of smiles.
"You do not belong there."
A whisper, yet it reached her ears past the netted, woven mesh of beats and electronic harmonies of the dance floor. And suddenly she remembered her feet on the floor, the skirt brushing her thighs, the hair at the back of her neck. His mouth bent in another echo of a smile. It somehow lent more clarity to her sleeping, faraway mind; somehow hooked that deep part lodged somewhere behind her sternum, that dark blob that was a creature of pure instinct and sensations, the part of her that thrummed to the overwhelmingly loud bass that beat out of the speakers - hooked it and pulled. And then she was paying attention, and the seductively pressing pieces of music were sweaty dancing bodies, and she could feel her feet in their french heels, taste the rough brush of men's jeans against her bare legs, the trickle of sweat inching down the back of her neck. And suddenly it was enough; enough to hurt, enough to be at peace, enough to cry and move on. But the jaguar was gone, and nothing was left for her to savour but the brief whiff of a dark tropical night.
----------
She's a grey lady
a fey lady
none too delicate
far too arrogant
but she's my lady
my little lady
Her gaze is lofty
and gently haughty
none too condescending
far too beguiling
but she's my mistress
my little cat mistress
and in the end
a little bread and butter sunshine
can tame us both.
"Pull up a chair darling. You look like you've had a hard day."
You're too nice, I'm too bad
We're a mismatched pair
but when you're stroking my hair
I don't really mind
-------
It wasn't enough to hurt. It wasn't enough to try to remember, to pierce her body with remembering, to let pain and sadness run through her like a forest fire. It wasn't enough to make her cry. When the blues came on the radio, all she could do was sway, a melancholy smile on her face and a faraway look in the back of her eyes. That's how he found, lost in a crowded corner of a dusty nightclub, letting the vibrations of the dance floor shiver through her soul. He watched her from behind his cheap drink, a nasty mix of dry, dry gin and artificial tasting lemonade. She seemed to feel every muscle with painful intimacy, flowing through the music like a faery lost in marmalade. Sweaty bodies pressed against her, and they were nothing but pieces of the music pressing against her, moving her to the rhythms that her heart couldn't bring her to hear. And he sat and watched her, watched her with eyes glowing from the dim light and the flash of bodies and the glint of glasses.
All she saw in from behind her eyelids were the soft the glimpses of an autumn countryside graced with a quaint wooden bridge, soft in the feel of her mind, like tendrils of tenderness brushing like a lover's fingertips against her consciousness. Her body was far away, swaying to a music she couldn't hear, only feel; she was looking for her tears, looking for the dammed up lake that held her cold sadness, deep and dark and dyed in the richest blue possible.
He unfolded from his seat like a jaguar emerging from the concealing foliage of a dark tropical forest, sleek and seductive and graceful as a gentle, soft menace. The sea of undulating bodies were of no importance to him; they parted effortlessly in the wake of his confident stalk towards the woman lost in the girl in the corner. His eyes never wavered - eyes of liquid steel, reflecting deep the pulsating lights of the dance floor, smoldering with strength and vitality and simmering pride. He knew where she had gone, and he knew he would bring her back from that cold, cold lake. Gently, he drew his finger down her arm, raising little hairs as he left a searing path in her mind.
This one was not a piece of the music; this one she could not ignore. Eyes heavy-lidded, she turned, slowly, in a daze, struggling to find clarity in the ambiance of noise and sound in which she had buried herself. Her gaze was fey, almost rebellious, but he quelled it with the tiniest of smiles.
"You do not belong there."
A whisper, yet it reached her ears past the netted, woven mesh of beats and electronic harmonies of the dance floor. And suddenly she remembered her feet on the floor, the skirt brushing her thighs, the hair at the back of her neck. His mouth bent in another echo of a smile. It somehow lent more clarity to her sleeping, faraway mind; somehow hooked that deep part lodged somewhere behind her sternum, that dark blob that was a creature of pure instinct and sensations, the part of her that thrummed to the overwhelmingly loud bass that beat out of the speakers - hooked it and pulled. And then she was paying attention, and the seductively pressing pieces of music were sweaty dancing bodies, and she could feel her feet in their french heels, taste the rough brush of men's jeans against her bare legs, the trickle of sweat inching down the back of her neck. And suddenly it was enough; enough to hurt, enough to be at peace, enough to cry and move on. But the jaguar was gone, and nothing was left for her to savour but the brief whiff of a dark tropical night.
----------
She's a grey lady
a fey lady
none too delicate
far too arrogant
but she's my lady
my little lady
Her gaze is lofty
and gently haughty
none too condescending
far too beguiling
but she's my mistress
my little cat mistress
and in the end
a little bread and butter sunshine
can tame us both.