on the deck, yesterday, with wine and the boys, with the girl next door (who i have this beady-eyed crush on) and mosquitos. i got this strange scarification on my back, little squares. while i was boiling water the boys and girl-next-door speculated; 'is from rough sex' 'is from crocheted blankey'. girl-next-door made me feel like the sexy woman for an instant when she said 'oh your beautiful bits, i like your cleavage.'
how delicious when the girl you're crushing on likes your cleavage.
when all is said and done i can't think of anything i'd rather do than be covered; in kisses, in chocolate, in blanket, in shivers, in body. covered.
when all is said and done one leaves one's prose for the sake of one's brooches. mine are rice-filled felt pods with yellow dinosaur spikes. they are sperms and eggs that say 'i am sperm + egg'. maybe it's trivial, but it keeps me amused in the jewellery studio.