Day Three hundred and forty eight - Cripple and the starfish

'Oh, I love this', she said, 'What is that perfume you're wearing?', and at that I smiled. I knew exactly just what I would reply, though I also knew I wouldn't know exactly how to phrase it. This is the thing : she loves how I smell. She loves how I smell. She loves I smell. She loves how I smell. And I tell her that this is a perfume my gran bought me from the pound shop round the corner, and that this is the last thing I have that still reminds of her, and so I  only wear it on special occasions. And she didn't even laugh and said 'Oh, you're so funny', she just nodded, assenting solemnly that she understood. I understand her, she understands me. No words need be said. 'I like the snake on your tattoo', say she, as she traces the outline of my tattoo, the one that took hours and hours to finish, and pain without end before it was done. I smile, again, I smile, always I smile, because her is smiling, and love is smiling, and love is us. I look at the stars above us, and though it's a warm summer's night, the chill still permeates our naked skin. We are naked, naked under the stars, dancing to my naked skin, and dancing to my naked touch, dance me to the end of love. My touch on your skin is electric, it sends sparks running down your cortex, and oh, how your touch electrifies my skin, and it send shivers down my spine. And in that black night sky, I point at the stars above us, a trillion stars, we're lost and found. But we found each other, and we lost each other. Oh lights go down, it's dark, all around me darkness gathers, are you here, are you there? I don't know, I have to know, let me be this seeker into the mystery, let me dive deep inside you, from cunt to womb, to the cradle of life, let me be inside you, in you, and of you, forever and ever. But time is running out, time is running out. And that's a good thing.

[This is the playlist for March.]