I am a brightly coloured, impassioned lover.

This is a violation.

I thought piggyback rides were mine.

Return to Start

I am, once again, a shape made out of pillows, a kiss of feathers and fluff, an interruption mid-dream, a comfort while I'm gone.

Just for a little while.

I love you.

We sit as far as we possibly can, just enough so that we're close to each other.

Firsts.

I said something and it sounded really deep. But that's for me and one other to know, and you to wonder about.

I shouldn't bother writing anymore. It's an art I've lost to her.

To Whom It May Concern

You were all wrong.

Thank you.

Home.

Where things were once about fate and parallel universes, they are now about luck.

Where there once was a lover, there is now a friend.

Where there was once affection in your voice, there is just impatient hesitation.

Where there once was a lover, there will never be another.

This place is no more.

Heart Attack in a Layby

Talk of how our children will have your nose, and whispers of "we'll grow old together" quietly creep into secret hollows we shaped into promises and left carelessly on the edge of a table, so the children of others could knock them down, so we could stand with sadness in our eyes, and stare at the fragments of what we had hoped for.

Don't Panic

It's hard not to scream when you're in the backseat of a car going 90 miles an hour, and there's no driver at the wheel.

Cheers, Darlin'

Here's to the first boy you fucked up.

She stood, with long dark tresses that rolled to the shoreline, and a kiss that tasted of stomach acid. Her hands held his, and his fear stung her eyes. "Place your faith in me." she said, with a voice of kindness and grace.

His lips thinned in resolute decision, and he peered over her shoulder, over the edge, into the waters, into the sea. "No." was the cracking response.

Her eyes dilated. His hands grew cold. Her face felt his fear. His face felt rage. His "goodbye" trampled on her silence, and her flowing mane followed her into the cold murky waters beneath.

When the waves quitened down, he found a lock of her hair, clinging onto the the ledge. He untangled it carefully, and put it away.

"You, I'll keep for me."

Circus

Pan sits on the floor with outstretched legs; his back to the bathroom door. Staring drunkenly at Dee as she strategically, almost perfectly, places herself onto his lap. She takes the shadow off his face that cast over him while they were talking about someone he didn’t really want to discuss. Her finger drags in the opposite direction of the stubble growing on his chin, leaving fingerprints on his nose, his cheek, and his half-closed eyes before dragging it back to his lips where she gives him a tongue-less, over-whelming kiss. Pan sighs in humble disbelief.