If I laid you on a blanket of stars. You would shine brightest. 

I listened to you shower. I felt the warmth of your smile and watched the water drip from your hair. I saw you dress….I like to watch you. 

As the morning slipped away I drowned surrounded by you. No ticking clock to announce the seconds that passed, but pass they did.

I think I paced the bedroom floor a hundred times. I think I fiddled with the window blind. I know I held your shirt to my face I know I drowned in you.

I ran my finger down the empty bottle by the sink. I smiled I reminisced I felt you. The living room smells of candles and lilies. I pressed  my hip against the indent in your cushion. 

I imagined how it would be, impossible in hindsight to capture the scale of emotion in saying “good bye”.  I never said the words when the time came. 

The day didn’t pass in the blink of an eye, it was drawn out and painful. I wanted to write to leave something behind, but it wouldn’t flow.

I showered. I packed my case. I held your shirt to my salt stained face. I breathed you in so deeply. 

The rush ensued to make it on time. I wished I’d planned better.  You moved your hair from your eyes and picked up your keys. I adore watching you. 

I remember feeling chilly and how the sunshine hurt my eyes. I don’t remember the journey, but for the duration I was lost.   Soaking you up. 

One last moment to pull you close. To breathe you in. It will never be enough time. Kissing you is beautiful. Mesmerising and sensual, even when it’s goodbye. 

I hate ticket machines. I hate anything that separates us, platform 9, the underground walkway. I hate leaving you. 

…..then write me a sonnet  and sing it from your heart’s depths. 

  
Dedications of love. In passing a song that’s already been dedicated to every love you’ve had. 

You’ve never loved like this before? Yet the words are the same words the and the music so familiar. Like a comfort blanket used again and again. 

It’s quite a cruel gift these second hand feelings. No matter how beautiful the words, when used to define what you’ve already defined they become meaningless. 

Originality! I don’t want to be a ticked box in a little black book of “love songs” I want new feeling not old memories. Give me something to sink into not a crowded room full of past loves and what ifs all singing the same worn out words. I don’t want those feelings. I don’t want your cast offs.

The feelings they evoke in you are nothing to do with me. It’s like a love letter with a thick layer of tippex over countless names.

Love is….. never repetition. 

The Beautiful South – Song For Whoever 

Those things that turn your head. That make you forget what’s important. However slight they seem to you in the minutes they take hold. In waiting comes a feeling of insignificance. 

When he speaks I sometimes see his soul in the emotion that falls from his mouth. Listening changes completely I change completely. To feel his lips on my fingertips, to soak him up, to have him always close. 
Sometimes it feels like a dream, but dreams are for sleepers and I’m wide awake. I’m at my best beside him at my happiest in his arms. In goodbye the only sadness lies. 

but time spent in your arms is magical. Time can’t erase nor alter the depth of my love for you or those hours of ecstasy. 

I’m often too caught up in the now to think about what lies ahead. I like that, I like putting stuff to bed before moving on. Clearing the path I guess. 

I want to write, that much has become clear. It’s definitely important to me. Be it poetry or just thoughts it’s one of my go to safe harbours. I say what I please here and although I know that people may never read it, I know that those who are important to me do. 

I’m lucky. Lucky that I’m able to express how I’m feeling. I’m lucky to have beauty in my life that inspires me. I don’t ever want to take that for granted or forget my flaws. 

Simplicity is such a beautiful thing, but the  world and its people are often so complicated. We’re completely aware of right and wrong, but we are led by our egos. We all have one…and its not always a bad thing. 

Little things like the text I just received. That someone told me I am in their thoughts. Simplicity of “the small things” become the things you crave. I crave. Yeah the big moments count but it’s the small things that shape your heart. 

I’ve completely lost the thread here. Why I started writing this…like those winding conversations I love so much. Where you start and finish isn’t important, the fact that you got as far as a conversation is amazing. 

Such long pauses…life in between. Technically it was a bath. Then dinner. 
Where was I? 

On the edge…I’m not actually on the edge of anything, it just feels that way. Change often feels like that. It’s not an abyss or in any way foreboding. It’s natural and welcomed.  
Paused ⏸

The death of Jo Cox yesterday is extremely tragic. Her killers motive? I’m not sure. Nobody is sure….

…..nobody except the people of Twitter. Some will have you believe that it’s the fault of a poster, a cancer, an illness etc. Nobody really knows. Everyone is so desperate to be heard. For their opinion to be noted and re-tweeted. 

Farage’s poster is vile. It’s a lie. Is it a surprise? It’s not a surprise at all. UKIPs whole campaign is a racist barrage of venom. Yeah we can blame them for everything we despise, but they’d just be a scapegoat. 

Twitter is teeming  with inaccuracies. It’s a hive of propaganda and has been for years along with our news coverage and our journalism. What’s at the heart of all of these things? A government so corrupt they might as well be sponsored by Murdoch. 

Animals are animals and humans are humans. There is no cross breeding there. Animals do not kill because of creed or colour or sexual orientation. Calling a human an animal is often a damning  insult to the latter.

People retweet the gutter press (which covers such a variety of our so called journalists) so often. It’s one thing I dislike about Twitter the “when it suits me” mentality. Like those who despise Murdoch yet subscribe to Sky. Complain abou The BBC but tune in for more of the same. Signals so mixed it’s like semaphore for dummies. Personally I don’t care what The Sun or any “newspaper” says about anything, but it’s quite obvious that some people still believe what they read.  

To the free thinker this seems so unreal. That people still allow this venom to be drip fed into their lives. Like the off button doesn’t work and newspapers can’t be left on the shelf. Will this element of society always exist? Very probably. Can you change it? Might mean having to get off your arse and doing something!!! 
It’s not a question of “can you” more “can you be bothered” 
Don’t believe everything you’re  told. Don’t think that Twitter is the font of all knowledge or that opinions are facts. Headlines are just opinions. 

If you really want to change society then learn. Teach yourself. Investigate the “facts” be your own judge. Don’t be led or ruled by hear say. 

How much pleasure they own. When holding hands becomes so much more than holding. 

Each flesh covered vertebra brought to life with one flowing touch. Intricate nerves set on edge with anticipation. 

Slowly and beyond intense they outline they define. Seeing is believing, but feeling is intoxicating. 

Eyes close unwittingly, like you can’t bear the thought of waking up. Fingertips  undress, they explore. 

Tracing curves, tasting that palette after every touch. Time stands still, time is yours to hold. 

Mind fuels the senses and hunger drips from fingertips. Powerful strength held in such fragile vessels. 

I woke with a head full of words. Cryptic like a screwed up letter rewritten and tossed aside. Am I supposed to make sense of it? I’d like to try.
I have lines written years ago. Just lines that will someday be something, something other than just lines.

Scraps of paper a reminder of inspirations lost in a thought. Fresh words with new meaning are now, my love. 

What I write falls with meaning, always loaded always with reason. I won’t  wade through metaphors when forthright has such beauty to explore.