The Hanged Man says:
K. Let me know when it is in hand. Also: Does being ready for around 8:30 AM tomorrow work for you?
camping mon – fri says:
oh christ
camping mon – fri says:
okay
List:
you
snow
slave boy
clean tub
massage oils
passionfruit gelati
strawberries
8 skeins of silk
Course, it would have to be a slaveboy because otherwise, oh the guilt at having someone else clean my tub.
Ian has promised that I get to wake up to ice-cream if I’m up and ready by 8:30. It’s going to work.
Last night was nice. Many many introductions. I’m becoming a familiar face there again. Either that or a girl in a little nightie with pigtails is somehow more approachable than someone decked out in spikes. I’m uncertain if it was worth the sharp pain that I seem to be bathing in now. I feel like an utter idiot. *sighs* Pulling up on the week where I want my lovely here to play with my hair. The days where I crave affection like breathing. On the dancefloor there was someone who moved like him a little. Tall too and shaped like a hypothetical little brother might be. Some millworker named Galen. Continually thrown off, I finally got tired of it and made certain to keep him in front of me because, wow, was catching Gavin in the corner of my eye getting irritating. *grinning* It felt incestuous somehow to give him the thumbs up when he picked up my friend. *laughter*
I’d hate to mention the word addiction, but, well. I miss you like it gives me fever. If I were to take up music for you, I would be a musician who drives a hearse. Groupies would carry the equipment and I would play happy post rock fuck me music just for you. I want to hold you against me like a terminal dose of vodka under the influence of a racing-car. Yeah. I am in some serious need of some opium. Grind up your metaphorical bones and create a fairy dust to breathe straight into the brain. Let your mouth and words liquefy. Drink it down chilled past the point of frozen water. Bathe in your blood sweetheart, pull an Elizabeth and stay young in the drip of your ego. Take those paint stained fingers and trail them down my spine speaking words of abject desire. Yeah – I could go for a bit of that right now. I wouldn’t even feign sleep, I’d let you just look at me. It could be an abduction, you could take me away. Again and over and this way and that little sound. Those tiny sounds that fill my world so completely I have to stop walking when I think of them. That racy moment when I blush on the street. You patterned me with those. I remembered without knowing it. Welcoming you home and me home and the two of us and I remembered just how nice that little sound could be. White walled room and I wanted to run to see you, but I was adamant because I said I could walk it in twenty minutes. Here, now, we have the sun through an open summer window. Anyone passing could hear, but they would only have to smile. Like I smile, like you make me happy. It’s infectious, it’s sickness. It catches in my throat, stealing my words, and makes me stand on tiptoe to kiss you. Take your hand again. Take my hand and let it rest, a gesture, fingers inarticulate over new scars. I could do anything for you. Truth and Dare. Tear down a building, erect an empire. That skin pliant and smooth, ready to be written on. You’ll know me well enough to not turn over, not grab my wrists. Next time you’ll take the colour. I want to touch you like I’ve burnt myself cooking and you’re kissing me better. I want to touch you like you want me. If you turn to kiss me, I will kiss you back, but deeper, you will drown darling, and I’ll ravish you. Two can play canvas. As if we’re thinking up the last theory we’ll ever utter. As if this is the second time you get to take off my clothes. Like how your maps aren’t of anything to people without the key. Like the way the curves that flesh our bones don’t hide the underlying structure.
Course, who am I kidding…? I may be strong enough to stand down everyone else, but he plays me like a kitten learning it’s milk teeth. I’m ineffectual and that in itself is sweet.