03: DESIRE

FOR MORE DESIRE SEARCH THE TAGS. In the meantime, breathe it in, love birds. – Paul



Love letter # 264

The way you looked last night – in the evening light – in that lovely dress – it forced me to confess. I think about you all the time and I wonder if we will ever, ever be.

I am wracked with reservation – for I have heard your stories of bad men and broken hope – but this does not mean I have not dreamed what I have dreamed. That I have not imagined your kiss. Not heard you sigh in my quiet fantasy.

And yet I know the rough and unforgiving terrain of man and woman as well as any. I have seen and felt its jarring bumps – and yes, I am more than a little afraid. But should it be your wish I will risk a further bruise for you, if only to have another chance at joy.



Love letter # 205

Desire, love, connection – call it what you will – it appears to happen by some magical process. The sight of you has sent the signals rocketing through my system; that warm, enveloping tide of hormones and recognition. The physical crush in my chest. The gravitational force that urges me to touch you whenever I can.

In another world this might not be a problem. But alas, this is the world we find ourselves in – the world in which you are already betrothed.

I see your eyes looking out at me. I read what they’re saying. Oh please … please don’t.

We all choose the path we walk upon – and I have chosen this: to adore you quietly and allow you your decision. I will not say that I am a better man, for I may well not be. Indeed, I am just another man who wants you. A man who sees the incarcerated beauty glowing inside you. (Or at least thinks he does.)

I am prepared to accept that this is all a delusion – another grand, romantic folly in a long line of pseudo-poetic mishaps. But maybe one day you will prove me wrong.



Love letter # 134

Ah, summer dresses. Whoever it was designed them must have had my particular surrender in mind, so precisely am I unpicked by the scent of skin and sway. By what is hidden and what is shown – and by the beautiful way you move.

I cannot look at you in that dress and be unmoved. Cannot look you in the eye. Utter a single word. The ache of my wanting is both exquisite and cruel. I am on the rack of its ardour. Sometimes your beauty is more than I can bear.

So I come back to the cool of my room, safe from your splendour, and all of my love becomes a song – and it is as though an angel has followed me home and sat down beside me to type this up. And I can feel the light right through me.



Love letter # 240

I confess – I set out to be cruel to you today. I wanted to punish you for my hurt. But I couldn’t. I saw you and that warm, resilient flower inside me opened up – as though the sun had returned after its winter sleep. I wanted to push you away but something stronger kicked in. An elemental force. A bloom of longing. Something primitive to smash my sophisticated determination. Damn it.

It will be difficult having you around again – feeling what I feel, knowing what I know. Little drops will seem like oceans to me – little sparks a fire – for the heart makes songs out of ordinary sounds – and when it’s you I’m dancing.

Perhaps if you weren’t so beautiful. Perhaps if I did not love you so. Or if you were still in another country. But alas – you are here and I am breathless once more. And, as I promised you I would be, quiet.



Love letter # 263

Done my best not to notice you. Failed. Others don’t see them, but I do. Your gestural details. The way your smile illuminates your eyes. That flick of your hip. The almost imperceptible way you linger. Your mouth soft. Voice a little deeper.

I want to be immune. Impervious. In control. But I’m not. My gaze hovers on you and I pray you can’t tell. I am afraid of the inevitable crush of your knowing. Not ready for no. Scared by the prospect of yes.

What will happen to desire when it requires action? Will my composure stand up to the ache of walking away; let alone the hot blaze of first kiss? Perhaps this quiet is preferable – because it lets me look at you. And you are so beautiful.



Love letter 211

I’m sitting next to you – typing this – and I’m on fire. But nobody would know – not even you. I’d love to get you alone but the crowds make that unlikely. Perhaps later; though probably not. Desire is an easy secret to keep from others but not from yourself. There is never any real hiding from what you want. And I want you.



Love letter # 300

Just say. Don’t test me with signs or whatever you think they are. Say yes or no. Make it plain. I was never a genius before I knew you – why would loving you make me any smarter?

I’m scouring you for clues – waxing between near certainty and crestfallen flatness. You touch me, you ignore me. All that stupid stuff. And I’m the stupider for falling for it.

So that’s why I’m writing – putting my head on the block. Let it be salvation or something else. Just not this unseemly adolescent guessing game. Not this wanting not to want, not this turgid drama of private wondering. If it’s no, I’ll know.

But if it’s yes …



Love letter # 285

I’ve been trying to hide it – but your proximity opens up the cracks in my shield of uncaring. And now, even when you’re not around, I think of you – dream up scenarios.

It’s your long black hair, your gorgeous smile, the way you let your hand rest on my knee. That and my appalling need. My loneliness, my hunger, the scent of your skin.

We are nothing if not animals looking for a mate; perhaps this explains the silent, secret gravity between us. Or maybe you are just the nearest – and I the closest to you.

If there is a truth here, it is that desire will overpower the inches that separate us. It will crush our cool language to sighs. It will turn our wiser heads to kiss. Unless I leave.



Love letter # 178

You and me speak a language no one else does – although I’m sure everyone understands. It is the secret tongue of lovers. We whisper it at night. You breathe it in into me and I sigh in return. And you know exactly what I mean.



Love letter # 173

Ah, the lottery of DNA. Upon some are bestowed all the natural graces, from others they are withheld. Some are effortlessly lovely, others toil at approximation. Of the two of us, we both know who is who. So please – do not walk that way – do not look like that. For yours is the beauty that knocks down the walls; and yours is the light that shines right through me.



Love letter # 219

Whenever I see you I am completely undone. Every defence melted. Struck with the beauty of you. I watch the way you move and I am compelled to sigh. And all my thoughts collapse into your eyes.

Whatever wisdom it is I think I’ve attained – I think of your skin, the weight of your limbs, the way you yield – and pride melts to joy. I imagine the details of your form, the perfume of your nearness, your hand upon me.

My reason departs when you arrive. My act dissolves. Like a force rushing through me. I am aware of the swivel of your hips, the arc of your smile, and I am in the ocean once more. The island that your tides erode.

In the temple of your splendour, the gods become the beggars and the wise become the fools. The things I thought I knew are now the hunger that I feel. I dream of your kiss and there are no more lies. Only the truth of my fire. And you. Unbelievable you.



Love letter # 216

I fought the idea for ages – didn’t want it to occur. Knew it would change everything. I’d almost talked myself out of it. Almost.

It only took the smallest breach – the merest taste. A flood is sometimes held back by thought alone. The difference between then and now is an idea – is the touch you gave.

Your fingers – my undoing.



Love letter # 237

I should leave now. I have started to imagine you using your body in that way – how you would move. Sound. Sigh. This places me in an untenable position. I can barely bring myself to look at you, let alone carry on conversation.

You will know me by the space I leave behind. Perhaps you will be surprised. Disappointed. Sickened even. At any rate, I will not have to bear the awful weight of your scorn or the slow screw turn of your ignorant bliss.

By writing this I will appear on your radar – even as a blip – and you will know that someone noticed. Perhaps you saw right through me all along but I have swooned in the vision of you. Your beauty has inundated me. As I take my leave I carry the leftovers of your loveliness with me.

I leave to avoid the intolerable spectre of your light shining for someone else. I know this is petty; but I would rather be called a fool than die in quiet envy.

Just know that you are beautiful and that the one who used to occupy that now empty seat nearby was the one who thought so. Was the one who knew what that meant.



Love letter # 194

Beneath a solitary yellow globe – on a borrowed bed – we did nothing special – just the instinctive rocking of man and woman. Your weight moving in and out of me. My need consuming you.

Yet even when it was at its hottest you knew not be a machine. You made love like a song. You paid attention. Never forgot you were with someone. Enough of me was aware of it to know that I had never known it before. But it wasn’t their fault. I was the mechanical one. I was one who kept it unfeeling.

You weren’t sexy because of technique – you were sexy because of feeling. Because you surrendered.

In turn, I yielded absolutely. To you. To the way you ate me.

It didn’t just bring sex to life – it brought life to life. Suddenly I had senses. There was beauty and wanting. Exhilaration. Exhaustion. Incredible pleasure. There was this pump in my chest – the very drum of my existence. Pounding and primitive. Undeniable.

Something you did – someone you were – made all this possible. The switch was in me – I know that – but you showed me where it was. You made me want to turn it on. To risk the way light might fall.

I used to live for a kind of truth. I thought it would set me free.

I don’t live for anything now. I just live. I look at men. Suck and fuck them with my eyes. Dream that they were you.

Like I’m dreaming now.



Love letter # 161

I wanted to reach across the void tonight. I wanted to break the trance of wondering. It was in my bones, in my blood, in the tips of my fingers – the sheer power of you. I wanted you like certainty. Like all of history. My longing was like the earth itself – ancient and deep and seeming so much bigger than me. It carried me to the brink. Our hands nearly touching. Breathing in time.

Then – just when …

So I’m saying it like this instead – because I want you so much I can barely talk. Scarcely lift a hand. Maybe I’m scared you’ll say no. Maybe I’m terrified of yes. For it will not be just a kiss. A kiss will spark a fire – and who knows what will burn.



Love letter # 185

I have tried not to see your beauty. Not to have it blazing in my eye. Not to see your lovely mouth – nor to smell your honey skin. Not to think of how your hand would feel – nor fix upon your hips. Not to watch you dance like that. Not to share your drink. Not to have these thoughts I have. Not to cry out loud. But hunger is the stronger now – and you are what I wish.



Love letter # 116

We live in terrified times so I find this hard to say. When I noticed you – wet and salty on the beach – water tracing lines over your incredible form – glistening on the synthetic sheen of your bathers – I was too afraid to look. I felt that if my gaze should linger not only would you know – and judge – but that I would find myself reaching out – hand seeking the sheer electric of you.

There is nothing complex about this – just hunger. A raw recognition. My civilised demeanour – my politics and perspective – they have melted at your feet. The smell of you – your proximity. This is want I want. You may have a chemical power over me, but honeypie, let me tell you … I am more than willing to submit.



Love letter # 143

I wish you didn’t tempt me so – didn’t stand there like that. Or shoot that smile, shine those conspiratorial eyes. Sometimes you lay your hand upon me and all my nerves are music, singing the electric song of you.

Don’t say you don’t mean it. I know you do. You like the smell of burning flesh. I like the feel. We could make this all happen in a blaze of surrender – you could just touch the trigger. From there it’s just momentum.

Some days I wonder what we could fashion from all this desire of ours. Other days I think I’m dreaming it. Even so, I walk beside you and all the atoms between us fizz with pent up charge. My mouth is dry, my breath is short – and I have to summon all my will not to reach across the centimetres and set the whole universe on fire.



Love letter # 129

I am trying very hard not to make it obvious. Failing badly every time you come close. Something in your eyes, in the music of your voice, sets the horses racing. My blood gallops. Heart like a bass drum.

But you’re not like the haughty princesses that know every man is looking, whose painted smiles merely exacerbate their well-researched scorn. Your beauty is of an altogether warmer kind – your lithe, quiet grace unaffected.

You look so gorgeous in that floral summer dress you wear. Your tresses fall so hypnotically – and I am rooted to the floor. I look away, trace you with my other senses and, I confess, imagine how it would be to reach across the eternal uncertainty.

Your skin, your electricity, your lovely hand upon me – maybe even your kiss. I would risk my calm façade, use up my thin reserves of credit just to have the chance to know these things.



Love letter # 73

You know that if you touched me I would most likely dissolve. Careful; some things are easily broken – like my resolve. The line between everything being as it is and the volatile fusion/fission of you and me colliding is no more than a word’s width.

I protected myself with the belief that there was nothing left to want. That was before I saw you – before I knew.

I can almost feel your skin from here – feel the current that flows through your hands. The gravity of you is making me heavy; so yes – I am falling. Burning up in the atmosphere. Parachute discarded.

This is not me being wise – this is me undone. You untied me with your eyes – now look.



Love letter # 231

It’s a beautiful time of year. Almost as beautiful as you.

The scent of promise, the smell of skin, the bittersweet buzz of longing – this is how I feel you in my body; alive and electric, deep and wordless.

These syllables are a proxy – nothing like the way I really feel. That I can’t describe, not even to call it a hunger.

Right now, the light is like honey and the air is like feathers. The evening is made of music and I’m already dancing. It’s almost as lovely as you.


Love letter # 212

You drove a river right through me – pierced me with a parcel of light. Breath suspended – I was quiet inside – like the still of a beautiful evening. And when I inhaled – you flowed – and I was made of you – and you were made of me – and we became we.


Love letter # 112

Something’s been re-arranged – the stars aren’t quite where they used to be. The order of things – subtly shuffled – and my easy control – loosened. It’s like I’m lifted up; a feather on the breath of your favour. A knot has formed inside me – undone by your outstretched hand, tied anew by your retreat. I want to fall to my knees and crawl to the heel of your kiss. I want to shed this skin – let you see it all.

Can’t you tell? You light a blaze in me that threatens everything – and all because I want you.


Love letter # 170

You used to make me dance for you. I was always glad to do so. And you always made me sweat. I was never more alive. Yes, I’d do it all again – if you only said.

Maybe you’ve forgotten how it feels. I haven’t. I sit here next to you and I can still see why. Beneath those layers, before all the stuff we wished had never … your dazzling eyes, my ready fire.

The stars never go out, they simply hide behind clouds; and when the rain clears we can lie on our backs and name them all anew. Just like that.

A storm is just a storm and a roof can be re-built; and though our words can’t be unsaid, tonight can be whatever we say. It could even be a song.


Love letter # 235

What if you find this? Suppose this is really happening – there’s a note left on a napkin. You pick it up. You look around – but I’m gone; but you’d know who I am. This isn’t about me, though – it’s about you. How beautiful you are. The way you shine. I know you smile for everyone but I love how you smile for me. I am most likely a fool – but I’d like to ask you out sometime.


Love letter # 106

Hunger undresses everyone. Desire is a great leveller. Even the Gods have knelt for a kiss. As I do now.

Your eyes, your mouth, the scent of your skin, your hair falling that way, catching the light … Yes, these are the things that undo me. My civilisation, the clever words I protect myself with, my damn restraint – they don’t work when you’re near me. Next to you I am the king of starvation.

So now you know. If I look like I’m burning – well that’s because I am.

I had hoped that my silence would last until you chose me – but here I am laid bare. Too hungry for secrets.


Love letter # 292

… and then it was like voices singing, angels in amazing harmony, something coming from the earth but filling up the sky. Like rain when its falls in whispers; it’s cool, soft breath on my skin, so complete.

I breathe to have you in me. I sigh to understand. I drink to feel you close – that there might never be a wall between us. That we might fly.

You are like my atoms on fire. Bits of me are fizzing – electric – all of it maddening in my blood; a wild, ecstatic tide, a flood so lovely. I swear sometimes – the beauty is almost too much and I am nigh surrendered. Utterly melted. Become a part of you.

… and then I look around and see that I’m still here. One piece. Still breathing. Feeling cleansed. Light. And all because you loved me. That was everything.


Love letter # 140

There didn’t have to be a reason. You never had to say why. Things like this just happen like that.

I’m not asking for answers – or forensics. I want to feel like yesterday. I want to see the light again.

It was when you touched me like that – that was the moment. There it was – the fire in your eyes. And me going up in smoke.

We, who had certainty, now have this. We will wake up tomorrow not knowing where we are – but there will be an anchor … And when we find it?

Maybe there are too many words. They are a poor bandage anyway. I’m still bleeding. What about you?


Love letter # 192

We all bow before the seasons. Every year it’s the same – the particular perfume of beginning, the smell of promise. The scent in the air that night.

And you spilling wine on my shirt. Your hand on my chest as I changed. My eyes hungry. Yours too. Him in the other room.

You might say you regret it but there isn’t anything I wouldn’t burn again. I learnt to notice the flowers that year.

And I smell them now and think of your skin.


Love letter # 210

When I thought I had forgotten you – how I was reminded. With a solitary word you were all over me, rushing through my line of defence, carried by blood. All my composure went. I was unmasked.

And there was a flood so sudden, like heaven dropping pearls. If I had thought to walk away from you, now I simply crawl. I can put an ocean between us; you still bridge it with your breath.

The hard shell I sought to grow – just splinters now. The distance is a lie, the silence simply a lack of sound. You will never be far from me. You are the beginning of a song away, as near as the thought of evening.

Oh honey, now I remember.


Love letter # 159

I once walked in the sun with you; I guess I should be glad. Maybe it’s wrong to want more; but I do. I would share this blue sky with you; if you wanted to.


Love letter # 266

You are like the siren, I am like the shipwreck.

There are nights when I cannot even look at you – your bare shoulders, your eyes a fire – and I have to walk away. Wait outside. And when I hear you talking, when I hear you breathe that way …

The way you move your body. Your subtle way of dancing. Almost everything about you. It’s like music when you’re in the room – a song that drowns out the rest. Including my sense.

I am like the feather; you are like the air flow. And this is why I’m flying – this is why I’m falling now.

I can see you shining. I can hear you singing. I can nearly feel your touch. And were your lips to whisper, I would end up on your rocks.


Love letter # 117

I had forgotten how beautiful you were. Seeing you again, I remembered – and I was speechless. You said my name but I could not say yours. That would have been dangerous. Then you would have known.

At least this way I can say it without saying it. There is no awkward dry mouth here. There is no not being able to breathe. Here it’s okay.

If only I could write this, even send it – and yet somehow still hide. If only you could know without knowing. But the only way for me to be around you is for you not to notice.

And so, I will not stand out in the crowd. I will not perform tricks to get your attention. Neither will I seem cool or mysterious. You will remember my name and I will nod and smile – and I will try not to let it show in my eyes. And you won’t have to be embarrassed … and neither will I.

It’s easier this way. You are far too beautiful for me and I know in my heart that I don’t have the guns to fight for you. And this way, that very heart won’t need to break.

So yes, I’m scared. Afraid of how easy it would be for me to love you. For if you so much as clicked your fingers … I know where I’d be.


Love letter # 32

Looking at you is blasting a hole in my thoughts. Your movement is so evocative. The unmistakable flicker in your eyes, the curl of your smile, your soft bottom lip … Signs?

Or maybe I’m blind. Perhaps I’m imagining all this. It’s probably nothing to you.

Not for me. I am on fire – just like the guy in the song. Burning up. Practically panting. Now I know what they mean by fever. And this is the hot part. Watching you right now. You walking up to me. Such a velvet mover.

There is a magic about you. I can feel it when you’re next to me. The silver down on your forearm, the deep shoosh of your breathing, the obvious electricity – you are humming in my senses. I want you like a stone falls to earth. I want you like the rain.

You know that if you touched me … I would melt away.


Love letter # 65

It’s those hips – that’s why I’m in a swoon. The long line of that graceful neck, those opalescent eyes, that husky laugh … the way you lean forward. Yes, I am looking down your top. Isn’t that what you want?

Some fevers you just want to sweat out – some you just want to sweat. You know which one I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you don’t.

You could always lean forward a little further. We could always kiss. I think I would like the taste of that. Wouldn’t you?

This ain’t rocket science – it’s gravity … and I for one am falling.


Love letter # 67

When you stood next to me last night, I caught fire. The scent of your skin enfolded me. The sound of your out breath was a soft little shove, like a fingertip tracing my jawline. Something in the pool of your gaze unzipped me. And that beat before you left … that moment held. In such wonderful silences everything is known. But now I want to know more.


Love letter # 273

Exactly when I cannot say – but I am absolutely certain that somewhere along the line I was forced to abandon the illusion of control. There is, after all, something greater than me.

Don’t ask me to explain it but something about the way I loved you changed the world … from the inside. One day, I simply I woke up starving. Unhinged by hunger, I tried all the usual remedies; distraction, denial, pseudo-spiritual band aids – but I still wanted you. Some days, I almost forget you – but you were never further than a soft evening away. It was as if you had become everything beautiful; and I could feel you on my skin like warm air. You were the crisp mornings. You were the sweet smelling rain.

I was the blade of grass, covered in your dew.

The common wisdom has it that desire is the source of unhappiness but really it is the door to humility. I wanted you, you said no, and I learnt to give thanks for your beauty alone.

Desire reminds us who we are. Desire is the eclipse of conceit. By loving you the way I do – so constantly, so without bounds – I am humble, I am alive.

But these are just words – they are nothing compared to my love for you.


Love letter # 74

If you are sending me signals, I sure as hell can’t read them. For such erotic illiteracy I can only offer feeble explanation. I have blundered badly before – misread invitations – so much so that I have been frozen. The subtleties are now entirely lost on me.

My basic operating assumption these days is that no woman would ever want me. Indeed, I feel I am invisible to them. So in case you are wondering why I have not responded to you, here is your reason. Plain old fear.

Truth be told, I have wanted to hold you, I have wanted to kiss your wonderful lips. The last time we met I had to sit on my hands, tell my heart to stop jumping. When you smiled at me, when you stood barely inches away, I was shaking; uncertain, caught like a breath in the throat. My asphyxiated desire tore at me, yearning like a diver for sweet air.

Yet even beauty will fall from burnt fingers.

If I have made you feel unwanted – erase that thought. I dream of you with giddy hunger. My body cries your name. You have set my blood on fire.

So tell me, is this another friendship fatally compromised, another wrong end of the stick? Will you greet these words with silent scorn? Will I never know?

Please say no.


Love letter # 94

She’s really lovely. I really like her; and she quite likes me. But you know …

I so nearly kissed her. I would have – except …

Do I have to say? It’s absurd. Or is it?

I mean, look at us – you the sun, me the planet. All that gravity. All that twirling around in space.

So shall I hurt her for you? Because she probably will be hurt. I would be.

She will wonder why. She will wonder what could be better. Just like I do.

So tell me …


Love letter # 39

Of course I wanted to kiss you. I couldn’t stop looking at your beautiful mouth. But y’know … there’s the careful cautious thing – and there’s always fear.

I do think you’re ravishing, though – even if I pretend I don’t. I’m just too scared to say it out loud.

I get how pathetic that sounds. I know it’s a bad ad. But I can’t lie – not to you. I want the kiss you give me – not the one I steal.


Love letter # 35

Is it not true that those who live in the sky long for the ground?

It could just be that I want you because you say no – because you are elsewhere.

But could it not also be your beauty; bursting like bullets through walls? Is that not the real reason?

For your eyes, they break me open – and resolve is house of cards.

I watch the way you walk by and all my fine ideas are so much breathing.

And the hint of your kiss is a killer – and I am flying. Or maybe falling.

This dream could be my signal – my parachute alarm – but I doubt it; because you make the madness right with your fingers.

And your painted mouth is a siren.


Love letter # 208

There is a space beside me. It’s where I want you to be.

Am I being impatient? Would it be better if I kept my wishes secret – or at least wordless? Shall I continue to subsist on half delivered promises?

Forgive me – but I cannot. I will not. I would like to fly, not be suspended.

Will you be with me now? Will you come across that bridge? Shall I have the honour of your hand?

See here – this is the road I walk upon. No – I do not know where it goes; but I want you for my compass.

Can we turn this silver into gold? Shall we risk this lovely spark for a fire? Will you?

Because I would.


Song For The Unknown

I don’t really know who you are – but I can imagine.

I’ve been noticing you, taking note of the little things, piecing you together bit by bit.

I stand near you some days just so I can smell you – just so I can breathe with you.

And when your eyes pick me out in the crush I like to picture what you see. I like to think you think of me.

In my head, I hear you say my name – and it is a kind of music.

I imagine us making love.

One day we will – when I have the courage to burst into your song, to dance the dance I see inside you.

You are no longer a stranger to me, for I have known you with my hunger.

So take off those headphones – let that song be heard – and dance with me.

Right now – in front of everyone.

[This letter is an extract from a dance theatre piece called 'An Incomplete Map of Desire]


Love letter # 105

Slowly, day by day, the conditions of my surrender became apparent. Whenever you were close by, all the doors flew open. Light coursed in – brilliant, shining river. And your eyes – they set wonderful fires. And your hips – they were a sleeper hit.

I guess that makes it pretty plain … and I’m sure you must know by now. So tell me – am I allowed to shout this out?


Love letter # 23

C’mon you – let’s set fire to everything. Let’s dance where we’re not meant to. Let’s run through traffic. They can swerve around us.

I wanna feel the blood. I wanna feel your skin. I wanna know you every which way.

MOR is over – and this is the beautiful noise we smashed it with – every channel running hot. And here is the temple of our extravagance. Won’t you come inside?

C’mon – I know you wanna. You can fret about tomorrow tomorrow. By then we’ll be a million miles away.

You and me, my wild angel. You and breathless me.


Love letter # 10

Do I need to list the reasons?

  • You in that dress
  • What it shows – what it doesn’t
  • Your incredible skin
  • Your riverine grace
  • My bloody hunger
  • That deep toned “u-huh”
  • Your effortless splendour
  • My years in the cold
  • Our obvious zing

I could go on … but surely you know by now.

There is a key in the hallway – and there is a door with my number upon it. Everything else is yours.


Love letter # 41

Now that I am in your light, now that I have tasted you, I breathe in the age old epiphany of skin. All this talk, all these symbols – they are meagre compared to the soft crush of surrender.

My bottled urgency has gone to water. The sting has been excised. It took the merest touch. I was a kingdom waiting to fall for you. And you were my beautiful ruin.

Ambition, achievement – victory, treasure – even wisdom itself … empty clamour. I would rather kiss your splendid eyelids.

They say that every king is humbled before the queen of love. Thank God for that. Our worthless empires will never match up to this.


Love letter # 17

Because I am no saint I can say this: I want you.

I have thought and felt intolerable things. I have bitten my tongue so hard my mouth has filled with blood. I have struggled with the weight of hunger – tried not to let it show.

By confessing this I am praying that you will kill the fantasy with firm unambiguous language. I see that ring you wear. I see those demure dresses. I know your skin is not for me.

But still I shiver at the thought of it – still I can almost taste it in the air between us. You are like the dream of country, the gorgeously undulating earth. You are the cool scent of waterfall in clammy forest air. You are the softness of yielding.

There have been moments, behind closed eyes … that wonderful mouth, those honey tresses unfurled.

I would not just speak for you – I would sing for you. But alas … the dream crashes to its end upon waking. So shake me, wake me, make me realise.

Maybe then I’ll get over it.


Love letter # 19

It is though, at any moment, my secret will come hurtling out of me. The veneer I wear, the various masks I don to get through the day – they are cracked beyond repairing. When you stand next to me I have to hold my breath, bite my tongue until it bleeds.

And you don’t even realise, unless you too are a secret keeper of mad and improbable flames.

I have added up all the things I stand to lose – they amount to nothing. People speak of things like pride and appearance as if they actually meant something; but they are zero next to you. I could trash this whole stupid house of cards for the memory of an hour in your splendour.

Maybe you’ve heard all this before. Perhaps you have a cellar full of forlorn fools who threw it all down for you – after all, beauty makes arrogance kneel and hunger makes beggars of kings.

But fear not, I have lived long enough in silence to know that some things can barely be whispered. Look through me in the morning and I will know that you do not want to know. And who knows, I might even breathe a little easier afterwards. At least that way I’ll get to keep my imperial lies.

I am used to the grand falsehood; it is my world – although tonight I yearn for another. For this longing is my truth, this desire my open road. Say you will and I will throw away these keys and live under the heavens with you.

Be in no doubt, beautiful girl – I will if you will.


Love letter # 57

When you’re around, there is no one else. I’ll admit to being a little bit blinded by you. This electricity is fuzzing my head. It’s almost like being nowhere. Only thing left is the crush – y’know, that thing.

It’s like a hot wire – and my spine is on fire.

Forgive the corny rhyme, babe … but at least now you know you’re driving me wild. That’s gotta feel good. Sure does from my end.

If you want the sensible explanation – it’s like rediscovering the real beneath all the practised, careful half truths of everyday. Here am I – mature, thoughtful, blah, blah, blah – and all I wanna do is take you by the hand. Maybe kiss that mouth.

So what do you reckon … shall we dance?


Love letter # 9

Someone lit a match, brought a little flame to life. Was it you? Was it me?

Tell me how to interpret this, for I have lost my reason. It vanished in your proximity. Those eyes, that mouth. The curve of you.

God, I can still smell you – I stole these atoms from your breath and scurried off with them. And from your casual touch … well, I cannot say.

I tried to let you know – if you would, I would. Now, an hour afterwards, I have no idea. That disobedient grin – were you … ?

I am literally shaking now – a once proud man made of hunger. I maybe delusional but I want you. If I could kiss that spot between your shoulder blades, if I could curl your fingers.

If only you were near enough to hear the whispers.

When I am done with this damned typing I will seek recourse in drink to drown this demon. It will put me to sleep and I will wake up tomorrow slightly fuzzy – but sane.

Unless of course I dream of you.

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