(I only just got back from said weekend, because the trains are bloody annoying, and I may or may not write it up in full(er) or more interesting (also debatable) at some later date...anyway, for those of you who could use a laugh...)
Long coach ride to War Museum,
Fairly interesting talks,
Getting home and getting ready,
Doing all the Lambeth walks*,
Civil beauty, total kindness,
Utter silence, painted eyes,
Pretty kitten, pretty singers,
Pretty music (Bowery dies!),
Home in darkness, slightly fearful,
End of very tiring day.
Smiled a lot as I remembered -
April *isn't* far away.
Fragile beauty and strength, and strong and beautiful fragility.
It was kind of interesting.
Much of Saturday was spent trying not to kneel.
Or apologise too much.
I failed on all counts.
I would kill for his touch
As I would die under it;
Blood-slick lips, sharp-angled hips
Shock me awake
From grey hawk eyes in my dreams,
Unravel my mind, remake it,
He cut me to ribbons and sewed them to his skin,
Quick kindness and slow cruelty;
I played my last card and lost everything.
Scarred because he wouldn't bruise me,
Bruised because he wouldn't cut me;
There's little you can do, but still,
I wanted you to know.
"I ain't never going home,
'Cause I'm having a good time,
I ain't never going home,
'Cause my time has come..."
-'Home', Erasure - the first song my walkman played on my way out of Victoria. Heh.
*Lambeth is where our house is in London; the multiple Lambeth walks were me taking the scenic route to the station. Oh, shut up, I don't go there often. ~g~