Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Dinner Date

Your cultivation of my attention was swift, and somewhat impressive.
Blinding,
bad,
better,
bold,
it was dangerous to dine with you.

I hated to be your dinner date,
because your hands would rule a Kingdom under the table,
and I was a persecuted subject,
tormented,
tortured,
toyed with,
torrid.

Struck by the sudden sweetness of your stare,
I begin to wonder if I am in trouble,
or if I will find my power,
walking out of your hotel room at 4AM for a cigarette, leaving you on the bed,
shivering and shimmering.

I’m so sugary sweet,
so incompatible with your schedule,
sending you so out of sorts that it takes you a week to recover,
but there you go again,
inviting me to dinner.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Answer

Like a sheet of ice at sea,
I shattered,
surrounded by your warm embrace,
my sense, replaced by sentimental midsummer madness,
in the middle of winter,
waiting for your answer.

You held me,
like the ocean holds weathered ships,
gentle but uncertain,
your eyes, half closed as the clock struck twelve,
and you leaned down,
without a word,
without warning,
kissing your answer onto my fevered forehead.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Rainfall

It started as a shower and became a cyclone.
I waited and waited,
whirling through the war that I waged when you weren’t looking.
It was a rare moment of solitude,
because I’d lived under your looking glass for a long time,
long admired and long suffering,
because you like dark haired girls, with dark eyes that hold dark secrets.

Pure revenge.
That’s how it feels to be loved by you,
an act of angelic cruelty from a world as sweet as cherries.
You wept as you worked your way up my body with trembling lips,
trying to keep hold of me as I went the way of the rain,
fading away as the weather changed.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Christmas List

Right now,
all I want for Christmas is some diamonds,
maybe a mansion,
and something sweet and simple like a lie in,
with toasty sheets and a duvet that holds me as if she is deeply in love,
but as times goes on,
and I count down on my calendar,
I imagine I will settle for baking a batch of botched cookies as the radio blares our favourite songs,
and you blurt out that this year,
you are truly happy.
Your hand in mine as the sun sets on Christmas Eve,
candles in a cold but cosy living room,
a sweet and simple kiss,
and someone to wake up with.

I think that something like that could be the greatest gift I’ve ever received.