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Grey
I have a wolf. A juvenile young male. He'll get into bed and nip and bite, growl, and savage me ( Read more... ) -
And you thought I'd fucked off!
I have not fucked off, Reader, I am sailing in for a quick one and sailing out again. I'm up in my Crow's Nest, my study, avoiding a deadline. The leopard print coat that I stole off a fellow boarder hangs off my armchair. I am wrapped up in a blanket until the anciens radiators decide to fire up. Not much to report, only that I have a fringe now ( Read more... ) -
Red.
Since he's left, I've been dreaming about tigers. Tigers, and their big, heavy bodies, their soporose weight, their not-caring. They have bodies like big men, and tigers would fall asleep on top of you. They are not white or lithe or slim. They would not politely roll off to the side. They would not sleep by you as if you are stacking plates or ( Read more... ) -
the sixth-noughtiest year this century
Alors qu'it's the last day of the year. The Boy is being good, as ever - has already given me an occasion to pencil in to February 14th. So, no opera for me this Valentine's, but perhaps a rose carved out of polystyrene, a song, a fleet of doves painted purple ( Read more... ) -
Tomorrow I see
I want to be the hair that falls on his forehead. I sometimes am like it. I sometimes curl up to him and lie on his skin. These curls, he's always brushing off with his fingertips. I want him to brush me away because I'm always half-heartedly clinging to him. Maybe if he brushed me off, like a big brother to a little sister, maybe then I could love ( Read more... ) -
Oh, minor miracles..
To love him and miss him ever the more, I will relate to you the thinness of his lips, his thin red lips. To imagine his face and make a fast sketch of him inside my eyes, I start with his short philtrumThe philtrum is his groove, and his groove is a short one. It's where I aim at, to kiss, and underneath it he makes all his words. We curl up watch ( Read more... ) -
le Brenda/Jo
For once, I choose not to write for the young. I have been in love with those impetuous and elastic specimens, I will love them again tomorrow. Tonight I choose to tell you Brenda-Jo ( Read more... ) -
Life like concrete's going to fill you in
Hello, Reader, je rentre ( Read more... ) -
Girlcrush
Shockshockshock ( Read more... ) -
Manette
That philosopher writes to me, aching for a holiday, and my door is always open to him.
So often I find these men who are like stars in my blanket. I wish I was in love. It makes me wonder if I can ever love men, if I turn these down. I am afraid of them. I must be.
And sometimes I wonder if it is that they are men, that I hold them off.