LES BIJOUTIERS DU CLAIR DE LUNE

Leaving the Rex cinema, hand-in-hand with Stephen Boyd,
walking home in the pouring rain.

Soaked tee-shirt clinging to every curve,
accentuating bra-less nipples.

Panda eyes sliding southwards,
gradually darkening pale pouting lips:

a sensual mingling of grease paints.
                          Later, I am Brigitte Bardot
singing in the bath,

a world-wide phenomenon
in her lily scented steam spotlight,

and someone else is reaching through the haze
of imagination's infinity, someone intimately known:

Ursula, my cinematic alter-ego
plugged into the undertone of lust

where all-absorbing obsession is the norm.
Suddenly alive: Lambert in my bed

in the dark. Oh such passion! There,
on the outer limits of experience, dying

for the sadist, the cold-blooded murderer.
Ursula and Lambert...that night Heaven fell.


I am currently staying in the heart of the New Forest. Connection is rather poor, but I will try my hardest to visit you all...:)