Tuesday, 13 December 2011


I need excitement.

I need it fast.

Melancholy has consumed. As of 90 minutes ago. Game. Set. Match.
I stood in a room. Complete with disco floor.
Optics were in full swing.
Hips synchronised.
Mind full of desire.
I left. Time constraints. Though the males rang my bell.

I'm charged. Electrically, sensually, the wind rips through my fascinator.

I was his.
I want to be, still.

Pain sears.
A policeman once dropped tea on my back. Scalded me.
That tea contained milk.

There's no chalk in this.

Burning appetite.
Plate, I offer. It's nibbled at & discarded.

Filo is not what I'd envisioned.

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