Ada Cottage Writing

Saturday Morning and Friday Night



Chill November dawn greets sleep-starved mind
Like a slap from a jealous lover,
Who knows my guilty secret.
A glance back - a curtain twitches,
A grin twists my face,
I blow a kiss and skip away.

Silent morning, misty air.
Dew moisturises my stubble.
Memories tumble,
Like the last autumn leaves
Lying in snowdrift gutter piles that
I kick through like a six year old.

In finest black rags,
Two marooned strangers
Share travellers tales,
Cast up on a circular wooden island
In a candle-lit archipelago
Scattered across a silken sable ballroom ocean.

Wine flows, we build a fastness
Remote from our snickering shipmates.
Our heads bowed together as palm trees,
Our thighs quietly kissing -
No apologies offered or needed -
Your eyes glitter like the moon on midnight's lagoon.

A swell of sound, the dance floor heaves
We move with the tides, waves, currents
Until the storm abates, the rhythms calm,
We cling to each other, strength nearly spent.
My palm traces the swells and troughs of your back,
My fingers walk the ripples of your spine,

A black cutter carries us through the night.
Your face rests on my shawl collar,
Cheeks covered by gossamer white down,
Fine as spindrift in a gale.
I am lost in your scent,
We whisper nothings into each other's mouth.

In the tranquillity of your room
Scarlet fingernails loosen black silk tie,
Alabaster skin shines above satin.
Panther purrs and ski-glide swishes
Fanfare the shedding of the skins
That turn Clapham to Cannes, Balham Biarritz.


An attempt to be stylish and slightly erotic and capture a sort of mood. Still working on it.

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Ada Cottage
Last Updated: 23:00 22/11/03