A warm Jasmine breeze could whisp away her soft cotton blouse and reveal her ample bosom beneath. She would lean back her head so that her long wavy hair would shake loose, and she'd smile a gentle smile and breathe deeply. You could touch her, and she would welcome it. She would absorb your energy and your fingertips would tingle from the electricity of her skin. The space is colourful around her, filled with sexuality, draped in warmth and motherhood.
Thursday, 24 November 2011
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
Monday, 21 November 2011
She raises a hand to her cheek, as I do, she speaks when I speak, but I can't hear her. Somedays I listen so hard, so hard, to the silence.
She must have a purpose, a reason for being there?! A reason to stand each day, in the darkness. Why does she mock me at my window?
Sunday, 20 November 2011
As I look out onto my Queendom
My snivelling subjects pay with blood
For the disappointments they have
Their watery eyes, and quivering chins
Make my stomach full of anger
I'll send the guards to punch their heads,
to bloody and bruise their faces
My throne of thorns,
My crown of shame,
My sword of vitriol
Cower. Cower before your Queen.