Creators Erotica

It turns me on

to think of us creating at the same time.

Ours is a half-loved cup of tea,

a half-chewed piece of toast,

a half-nursed glass of red,

a water boiling over the lip of the pot,

kind of love…

a thought, a drop what you are holding, find the nearest notebook,

kind of love.

We are Monday’s children,

we are raw,

we are naked to the world,

we could never be bound by a three-dimensional earthly existence, we have parts of us that go beyond the soul.

Before I knew you, I went beyond myself,

and became a girl named after spice and heat,

the persona of my womanhood, my sexuality, my nature, my

‘take me to the rooftop and I’ll dance for you’,

my heart-breaking, my carelessness, my

‘I’m here but I don’t really see you’,

my weeks and months lived in overdrive,

my red-lipstick, my flare jeans, my glass of gin,

my cigarette burn to the cheek,

my ‘use protection, I don’t love you that much’;

that character consumed me, until you did.

You didn’t save me, you just made me choose the earth in our own hand-made world.

And in some mysterious process, in some deranged resurrection of the spirit, you pulled the pearls out of my mouth with your fingers…

You have the hands of an artist, your head was the musicians nucleus,

you were emotional darkness and melting wax,

you painted an entire universe with what was felt, but not seen…

I could rub my bones on yours...

the moonlight bleeds out of your veins

as you deliver me…