I purr her name deliciously, but dare not turn the page to read the words, preferring to believe the past is present in the future. I heard her playing yesterday beneath the window, but the room, of course, was empty; not even the piano. * She walked among the flowers depicted on the wall. She … Continue reading The Glass.
They sat on the doorstep at the back of the flats every evening filling the jam jar ashtray and trading hushed nothings. Autumn, she sat with her knees drawn and clasped. She stretched her legs long before her, silk pouring from them, on June evenings such as this one. They had been joined by another … Continue reading Starlight Conversation.
the prose she hones (analogue collage 06/11/20 10x10") The prose she hones all winter is wreathed in magic, sex and wonder. Come spring, will she, I ponder, still pen me essays of her darkest hour.
cut-up. Nat. Geo/ Boys' Own. watercolour wash. 20" X 30"
