The Cat

Black unfurling

Round your wooden legs

Stumbling

Black uncurling

An Affair

The cup was dirty. Old. Cracked, torn, shattered, dead. As if a cup could die. A lipstick smudge taunting the rim, garish against the grey ceramic. Red against the dead corpse of a cup. The handle was missing, probably on the floor. By the door, which had slammed. The cracks in the cup ran up from the missing handle, dirt ingrained in these cracks, making them striking, dark, dirty. The cup was abandoned on the table, alone in the sea of emptiness. The other dishes and cups and utensils, cleaned, put away, hidden. But this cup was dirty. This cup had lipstick bleeding from its remains. Inside the cups was dried tea. Not normal tea, not earl grey, not lady grey, not mint tea, but jasmine. Jasmine tea. Pungent, staining. Had needed straining. The odd leaf plastered to the side, splayed across the wall of the cup. The cracked, grey, dead wall. The cup was dirty.

An Random paragraph from my novel

“Laura, Laura! Wait up!” I yell at her across the sand, but it’s to late she is lost in the excitement of a child, running over the wet sand and chasing the waves as they skim over the shore. By the time I catch up to her she is drenched, she may as well of jumped into the sea. Laughing I wrap up close her in my arms. “Jonathan, you worry too much, live a little”, she pulls free and skips over the sand again. Suddenly, losing all inhibitions I follow her at a run.

Later we walk more leisurely, it begins to rain, big fat pellets of water, which soak our clothes, so I pull her closer towards me, my arm encircling her tiny shoulders. Then we give up trying to stay dry, although I think Laura had given that up a while ago and lie down in the sand, watching the grey clouds overhead and feel the rain dripping down our faces. She moves in closer to me, arm draped contently over my chest.

And in the end we fuck in front of the sea, almost at one with the rhythm of the waves now crashing into the rocks. Soon the tide will reach us and we will be literally in the sea, but no we make our way back along the shore just as the waves are licking at our toes. Shivering, we make our way back to the car to dry out. “People are only this happy in films”, Laura says. I don’t reply, for of course as usual, she is right.

Black Tar Leaked

Withering away

Robot centre, mechanical

Medicinal, dependent

I didn't stay

Every minute longer

I walk alone, away

Further

As you withered

Soon to die

To watch you lose

The battle

As black tar leaked from your veins

Was selfishly too hard

To sit with you and stay

Then when you had gone

Then when you had died

Away to pastures new

And darkened

To naked eye, and distance seen

They all said so had I