Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

I can only offer myself up as a sacrificial lamb but please do not hold that knife too close, let me say my piece and then we shall see who loved her, who left her, and who needed her.

Put away that cold, cold gun, and put your jacket upon the hook.  Please take your time and do not judge me before you have heard my words, my pleas, and my love for her that did burn a thousand older lovers.

We met at the crossroads half eleven at night, the film had finished and I was wandering lonely and lost.  We came across each other on opposite paths, our eyes met across the street.

Nothing needed to be said, nothing needed to be motioned, what we had we had it for that night in my old hotel room, which crowded and small, our bodies stretched across that single bed.

Before I could say no, before I could say go, before I knew what was falling I was in over my head.  Don’t hold that knife too close, my head is heavy and I am tired, I’m not sure that tonight I could put up much of a fight.

If I see you again at the old Chelsea hotel, I’ll do well to hold away, to take my body and to cross the sea, to never bother you again.

But in my breast, against my heart, I shall carry the memories of her forever.

Hold your hand, hold it tight, we only spent the night together that once.  When I look in the mirror so my body does shiver at the thoughts of what could be.  You have it all and I have just my old acoustic guitar.  Cold and worn, broken besides.

My friend you have won without ever raising a weapon against me.  It is true that your wife and I made love, that we reveled in the lust of two bodies conjoined.  It is true we moaned our way through the small hours, but that was just the night, oh it was just the night.

What I did, and what I said, I cannot make it right and I will not put up a fight.  You have my word, you have my promise – I shall never see her again.  The flick of her hair, the arched eyebrow, those are the memories within me.  I shall go, oh I will go, but where my weary feet do take me I have no idea.  I just carry on down this dusty road for one.

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Fall From Grace

It was a tick box exercise that I had been through many times before. The lush and satisfying swaying of her hips was met and complimented by the beauty of her face. Tattoos adorned her tanned and lithe arms, the nape similarly decorated. She could lull me into any decaying dream and I would have followed wholeheartedly. She guided me through the process that was to come in some far off distant time, but my attention was not on that inescapable void.  It was focused greedily on her, imagining what it would be like to kiss those lips and to sleep by her side each and every night, even though I did not know who she was, nor what her dreams or aspirations were.

Of course I was daydreaming, I was escaping the reality of the situation as I always had in those circumstances. I was lost in a reverence I had not earned nor sought. I looked to the motherly figure of my desires and implanted fake hopes and dreams onto those individuals instead, even as they took me under their wing and I gave wholeheartedly in. In short I became a ward of the system, I did not rebel.

‘Don’t you go too far, you don’t want the weather to turn bad’. It somehow felt like a hollow cry, an obvious plea.  I’d never seen him look frailer.  I worry now, of course, partly from guilt but also from love.  How far those miles seem, how slow the fastest transport is.