In the dark, in the dark which is inviting and full-scented
my body lies prone, a freedom of sorts, to abandon it
you enter, by what path I know not
since I blocked the paths with quarried stone
and the river of feeling that led here
I let it bleed dry
so that you might never sail its waters in the warmth of the night
before thought, before awareness of myself
there is awareness of you, of scent and skin
of flesh different to mine
and of blood which makes my heart beat fast
your unique signature: that the blood in your veins
makes my heart beat as my blood makes your heart beat
the occult significance of blood in a neat resume
neater than jagged piercing
Somewhere in inner space stands a doorway. Cross at exactly the thirteenth hour and you may find your own everywhen home, exactly as you like it. This is mine, a woodlands cottage I retreat to when I hanker after my fireside, books, candles and the aroma of food cooked on a real wood stove. It is a real place somewhere on the globe and also above it...
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The still room
No, not a room which doesn't roam, nor usually a silent room. Mrs Beeton would have known at once not only what kind of room it is, al...

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