body

railway hotel

woodstock station was a sea breeze of railway lines leading the way

oil-smells and sun melted iron and rust and the

mountain a huge flat table looming overhead decked

in famous white table cloth cloud grey shroud

dry cars plain as wooden toys

functional flavourless parked in a row

we would not be spotted we had our drinks in a lounge

from early the previous century

high ceilings hiding us in shadows cool

from plain sight;

shadows dark under my eyes

shadows over dark easy chairs

casually in fashion

exciting

i eyeing you with no eyes

i knew you were tasting me with no tongue

we had been hungry and thirsty for months

the four of us left together for ivy street

on the other side of that mountain -  i

put your fingers softly up my cotton dress

i knew you could feel

months of you there

and when you dropped the goblet and cut your hand picking up shards

it was inevitable that i

licked your blood from your palm

my lips and tongue and mouth a soft warm oven

i think you hated me then

for not having tasted me then

for having a wife then

for loving her enough then

i hated you too

but this was too much

i could not get it together or work it out

too much too much

too much life is made up of less important stills larger than life

it was one then

it is a truth i have lived since

it has not haunted me because it made sense then

and no sense then

that friday afternoon under a sky of sea then

and a fresh breeze through the knowledge in our eyes

near woodstock station

but i was not your wife then

and i was not one of those women who would let you

go because i was kind

or to save your marriage

but you let me go

and so i let you go

right back

back

back

back

and back then it meant one thing only

through no wisdom of my own

woodstock station was a sea breeze of railway lines leading away

seasofme280814oceanswing

distance is such a magical, magical thing, pity it takes some time to get there