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Caffeinated and Indulgent

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.

Love From… Balanced and Moreish