Memorycemetery

Unknown beauty, sleeping, calmly breathing
Next to me
Turn around and there is nothing apart from imagination
Breathing, sleeping calmly, unknown beauty
Soft his fingertips on my upper lip
On my upper lip soft his fingertips
Walking down the imaginative landscapes, getting caught in the armpit, exempt from doubts, just climbing the bewildered mountains, following the satin path and drowning eagerly into the sea of sensuality and delight.
Just like this during the daylight. 2 o’clock in the afternoon while outside this passionate filled place, people are walking up and down, filled handbags.
A glance of the eye spies her lipstick, a packet of chewing gum against the bad breath and her cigarettes. The box still showing marks from a night out. 078821410 call me.
Buzzing headaches and the usual lack of memory. Call Jim, John or Keith. Or was it Jade she went to school with during her 1st year in Blackpool Junior School? Mhh…never mind move on to the picturesque colours of yellow, green and red- peppers from Holland and juicy tomatoes, next to the red and ocker painted apples and the leak withered at the ends starting to become yellow.
Quickly rushing through the crowded market street and following the movement of people, listening to their conversations on events of the week passed. Yes Kate came over for the weekend from Birmingham together with her estranged husband. It is so lovely when the kids come back to the former home they left for a slice of apple pie and a cup of tea once every 2 years. At least they write a card when they can’t make it. The other usual ones for Easter, Christmas and the birthday. If they do not forget you can expect one for Mothers Day as well- how lovely.
Meanwhile somebody else is catching the smell of grilled chicken and the sound of Bob in the ear…emancipate yourself from mental slavery. Cheers another pint downed, drowned the boredom, simmering down on a Saturday afternoon waiting for the evening and dawn to come.

Hours later my thoughts are carried away, out of this room through the cold window glass into cascading clouds, roaming above these endless roads people walked, passing the streams of imaginations people thought into the ocean of the dark, sliding, slipping away
Just the wind whirling up my hair, soft strokes my skin whit its cold touch but feeling warm inside when coming home. And crawling back underneath the blanket that is even warmer. A light smell of vanilla and perspiration. Moving a bit closer to feel your heated body and wolve into these strong arms. Vanish and disappear just for a fraction of an hour. Sensing that it is spring and everything starts to blossom.

Fran

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