Saturday, 13 December 2014


I could see his hair jump up in attention the moment his fingers touched the craggy, cross-grained externality of the canvas. He was close enough, and his eyes closer enough for comfort. I saw the derrière of the cloth arch out when the pulp of his fingers pressed down the cloth, smudging the charcoal. His eyes roamed over my calves, and I could see his pupils expatiating on the nudging bone and the soft sinuosity backing it up.  Working his way up the softness of my legs, he made me feel unashamed of myself. He looked at my legs, but he saw me.
 I heard his breathing hitch and mature like a wildfire when his eyes dived along the convexity of my buttocks and the sudden concavity of my belly. He squinted his eyes on approaching my navel, and sighed loudly on seeing the ring there. A desolate smirk worked its way up his mouth as he transited his attention back to the canvas. He took in all of my ass in a glance, but he saw me.
His eyes licked their way around my waist, but he saw me. I could see his hesitation as his eyes started to escalate, his mouth fell open, and his tongue wetted the dryness of air on it. He curled his lower lip inwards as if protesting against what it wanted to do. I knew my udders stood up in attention his gaze, wanting the same as his lips. He stared at my bosom, but he saw me. 
His eyes were a golden brown against my chartreuse. Never did his eyes left mine, while his gawping prolonged, and his hands constantly torturing the canvas. He stared into my eyes, but he saw me. I knew it had ended the moment his deftly fingers halted the rasping between the charcoal and paint together. I covered up and all that hung between us was the heavy odourlessness of the acrylics. In a room full of leaping tints, he placed my carefully a notch up, darker than forever. 
I turned the money laden envelope on my way out, and unmanned its folds. I could smell rose from the petal left in there; the sepal the only colour between us today, and the only note to ever come. 

"You're the only one I've ever slathered rayless."

Fly! by Carne Griffiths (UK)

Things when you're in love with what doesn't live. 

Friday, 5 December 2014

Winter, Won't Be All Over Me

Twelve flavours
Twelve lovers
Twelve dates
Twelve places 
Twelve kisses
Twelve beds
Twelve breakfasts
Twelve flowers
Twelve coffees
Twelve teas
Twelve omelettes
Twelve sunny side ups
Twelve walks
Twelve restaurants
Twelve pasts
Twelve presents
Twelve futures
Twelve projects
Twelve jobs
Twelve cities
Twelve foods
Twelve eyes
Twelve voices
Twelve poems
Twelve stories
Twelve songs
Twelve genres
Twelve exes
Twelve, more to come
Twelve t-shirts
Twelve shirts
Twelve sweaters
Twelve bras
Twelve blankets
Twelve days
Twelve nights
Twelve weeks
Twelve months
The past year
And the next to come.

Happier this time,