BOOKENDS; TO DARE TO REMEMBER

  Do you remember Paris on occasions when spring sweeps in with its breath of those lost days, in that other life, before we knew London together or what it would be like to part? Do you, do you remember Paris, my little room, our lithe love and the plans we painted onto canvases of […]

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BOOKENDS; MINUTES MOVING

  There are but minutes now, minutes in motion on metros, minutes moving in on me, on my identity, on my mark, on my leaning, on my meaning, meaning I am moveable, like a feast, as he said; A Moveable Feast, meaning I am manageable malleable, maybe unremarkable, mistakable. There are but minutes now, there […]

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BOOKENDS; THIERRY’S LINE

  One ordinary, rather hot summer night, nothing special, nothing different, in my mind I ran my finger down the line of hair that ran from your chest before disappearing beneath your shorts as the breeze blew open your shirt and I caught the smile in your eye as you read thoughts. You, with your […]

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BOOKENDS; STILL ME ON THE METRO

  It was this morning and yesterday, all at once, a smell, a scent on the metro, in my nostrils, a decent into memory, a reverie playing, replaying while the Counting Crows played Round Here. We sang our own song, once, but time, like the metro, took us into different directions, with obligations steered to […]

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