her song of life

I can smell the earth
after the rain

I can sense its delight
its forgiveness
and its compassion

I can feel a slight chill
after the rain

a breath
a breathing of textured sighs
a whispered kiss

I can smell the grass, the flowers; life
after the rain

I can imagine the gentle hiss, of the escape
its joy of knowing birth
and the freedom of release

I can smell and see the earth
during the rain

petals sodden
joyful, joyful, dancing
and her song of life

smells so good

“It’s Friday.”

A rather strange story from March 2013

~

Thursday is a funny old day come clocking off time. Funny because we get paid on a Thursday, and funny because we get paid not only in cash but also in booze or any particular thing we care to partake of at the hotel bar; it’s a sort of end-of-week treat and yes I know, Thursday isn’t the end of the week but we never work Fridays.

I clock off and head for the bar as per usual only to find it shut; isn’t it a bind when something steals the rail tracks from our routines? What to do now, it’s never shut and never ever on a Thursday, as that me-thinks is when they claw back their money. I turn around and head for the exit but flip me if that door isn’t shut too!

Confused is only a mild term to what I’m feeling now. I turn around and head for the reception desk to speak to our most heavenly Matilda; I tell you, just looking at her gives me tingles, and her perfume, ah.. my god it sends the tingles into eruptions of synaptic bliss.

She isn’t there! The Bar shut, the exit shut …

Instantly the tingles are replaced by a cold sweat, my head whirls in confusion and I faint but not before having the most delicious whiff of her perfume.

I wake up and I’m in bed, but not my bed. I’m in bed with Matilda and the tingles are back.

She looks into my puzzled eyes and whispers, “It’s Friday.”
“Friday, but..?”
“Call it a promotion, we’ve been watching you and you suit our purpose just fine.”

She leans over and I’m hers … oh that fragrance …

I wake again to find myself covered in a kind of fluid sheet. Matilda is next to me, joined to me, digesting me …

Oh, perfect sweet chemistry … I feel like a Beatles song.