Reading a Friend in London

Comforting. I pot-lucked a magazine about sadness in fences, found your name dangling by an odd number. It was not like any other page: your hand reached out to pat mine

I want you to know that I am doing this for you

My dressing gown is shearing my skin I am sleep derived and overheating. The only way I can trick this pinprick of daylight that’s left is to treat myself like a child lie convincingly

The Outcast - Chapter Two

Some days are okay. They pass by in a blur. And then there are those days that take forever to end. Today's one of those days.
Cherry

Freestyle

I thought of Pete speaking magic in his leather jacket, pointing out over a watercolour city, talking about the wonders of creation, making my friend blush just with his pro-noun-ci-ation,
Cherry

apart from 8

thighs tight, ankles like cricket’s legs, shoes as thin as needles, hair blonde, cornfield blonde at late summer sunset,

The Troubadour

I followed its arrow advice, on this, the hottest of days: quickly straddled the stile, left my dress panting where it fell, watched my white vest dissolve to sugared rice paper, licked

The bride

Hewn from a strata of galaxies demure Inured with a witchcraft heartrendingly pure The bride wears her wedding dress like haute couture Dressed in a heavenly gown made by Channel or Dior
Cherry

Candle wax sky

Pellucid blue-eyes, whoever told you to-be-wise whoever told you, you could dream, beyond those? Monolithic, moonlit, midnight skies to drink the midnight curtain of sleep into waking hours

His Muse

When Beth returns after three days missing, Jake is angry that his muse left without word.

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