Dear... Caffeinated and Indulgent
A shot of murky tequila
And weeks of untapped tension,
Then just a look
An undershirt stroke,
And the fresh air was ours.
The clock struck Brexit
But the world carried on turning
While ours stopped,
Or paused for breath,
I don’t know yet.
The steps kept our secrets
Along empty streets of relief,
Desire and laughter
Walking forever;
But in which direction?
Altering the course of justice
And learning who we are
At 3am, and ever since.
Boundaries broken in
The kitchen sanctuary
And beyond, wherever
A smile could transport us.
Occasionally the iconic rooms,
Just to talk, nothing else,
Of course. Blindsided,
But inevitable too.
Capturing kisses in back alleys,
More invitations to hotel beds,
Shifting squeezes, heartbeats,
Exploring bodies, and souls.
Cracking toes in the bath
And cups of tea, in a bubble.
Naked and nourishing
Safe and exciting
Feeling held, and seen.
Masculinity measured by the
Cracks in a glass frame,
Or a wildly attractive mind.
Warm popcorn waiting,
Salty and sweet, like the
Sobering reality
Of these two worlds.
The pain of seizing what we can
While waiting for the plane to Cuba
(Or sex in the car, to Granada).
But no existentialism
Around midnight, you said
Only sleep and love,
Evolving into
An alchemy of experimenting,
Playful and rare.
An ephemeral elixir
Gripping the bed sheets,
Diving into the flesh and
Moments made of jelly.
Savouring the blood, sweat
And bruises and burns
And breathing,
Differently to before.
Scratched skin, stained sheets,
Ear licks, shoulder strokes,
Moment after moment;
Time irrelevant
And so pressing, always.
Like a floating duck
Grappling with the truth,
Hotels. Cheeks. Fears.
Do not disturb - an empty bar
With exquisite service,
Steamed buns, Hemingway,
An old fashioned romantic.
Next, adjacent rooms
A fucking revelation
Or a revelationary fuck?
Back to work, with our
Mouths shut
But eyes open.
Inquiring and evading
Crimes of passion, or
Another cliché
That doesn’t quite hit
The spot
The way your hands do.
Such newborn nostalgia,
Novel and Orwellian
Read aloud so beautifully
In the bathtub of dreams,
Questioning society and
Soaked in awe
At this surprising synthesis;
Unforeseen, electrifying,
Like the best moments in life
Tend to be.
Suspending disbelief over
Bottles of red wine,
Like an unlit candle
That still ignites, but
Cannot burst into flames.
Or pictures flickering in the dark,
Just for you.
More cinematic pleasure,
Moulding hands into memories;
Remember, but don’t regret.
Back to the stilted reality
But addicted to the rush,
Are we inventing something?
Love, interrupted,
Abrupt, but expected
This time.
An invisible storm
A conscious nightmare
Escalating in pace,
Heightening sense and smell
And touch and taste,
Like a metaphor that wouldn’t stop
A night that wouldn’t end
A bath that never drained,
Or an unfinished script
Put on hold, calling for
Aeons of patience
After 10 weeks of existence
But surviving, still.
Can you lose time
and gain it too?
Digital distancing, daring
Shower selfies, steamy
Videos and voice notes
Peached cheeks, and more
Cheeky requests
Fulfilled, but absent.
Brazen and honest,
Constraint in a crisis;
Love in the time of corona.
Now, where are we?
Space, time, freedom
In an eternity of restriction,
Like teenagers lying in a field
Unaware but blissful
Sleeping or lying?
Running or dying?
Tantric wisdom, yoga in the sun
Just a dripping distraction, or
Perhaps a motivational muse;
A delicate mirror, reflecting
Desires and worn-out needs,
Or maybe anxieties and dreams.
Grinning through group calls
Contemplating those puppy eyes
And how they fit into my life.
An entire atlas
Still to explore,
Collective human experiences
To be enjoyed, cherished,
Like truly never before.
Turn around, when you can,
There is hesitancy
Before providence moves.
And when dreams begin,
You told me,
Boldness has genius
Power and magic in it.