Riding on the edge of a D – full-toned and eloquent, that dips like a sad stream, then blossoms out again into a fan of music. Two drifters off to see the world, there’s such a lot of world to see. I am full of pity for every other love but this one: what an archetype, what a loaded vase of roses.
Clarity. Arising out of a love-cloud and limb-tangle. The softness of arms brushing, the kisses trapped in teeth. And every sight and sound is mauve and melts into minor chords and suspended half-tones. Everything is the sixth note in the scale or the f# in a c major: secret, suggestive, lingering. And every glistening slate roof tile and red brick glimpsed through my window is another ‘I love you’. Did you know about the etymology of ‘window’? It comes from the Old Norse ‘vindauga’ meaning ‘wind eye’. You can imagine those poor old norse villagers huddled behind clay walls, looking out with terror-filled eyes at the blusterous winds outside. My eye searches beyond the limit of the bedroom: where the amber street lights fraternise with the cold night air and the night has become so mulberry, I could squash it. The moon is reflected in the river.
Love. Love and purity of heart. The suspended ‘I love you’ rocks the room and fixes everything into a permanent sweetness that can only find metaphors in treats like pralines and smoked teas and cheesy omelettes and the gifting of everything that is beautiful because it is an extension of the love and holds everything together and makes it all cognate.
Erebus, drag me not away from the bedroom, the river room, into the world of dreams. I wish to stay a while in this partial eclipse of soul and body; on the ebbing, bleeding edge of passion. Feeling, for a moment, before I am dragged away from it forever,
This sweetness outside time.
833 words a day 