absence paints pictures

I like big afros. Tight butts and big afros are just about the coolest combination. Something about those frizzy little curls and succulent round buttocks . . . simply love them . . . male, female, it's an aesthetic thing.

Sitting outside Goldsmith's Cafe, the world driving by, rumbling, clanking, whistles softly murmur and a beautiful sun weaves into my jumper making me slightly too warm but everything is bathed golden and hazy and, oh, so sensual . . .

Earlier I slip through the streets like butter, softly melting into my footsteps. A beautiful black man with natty little dreads plays football with his son. I watch them, walking slowly, eyes following the glittering red ball that sparkles as it bounces from foot to foot. The beautiful man smiles across at me and invites me to join them... I wonder.. but I grin back - "no, thanks man" and continue walking. A missed adventure perhaps but the sun lazies me and I prefer to look from the outside in.

I've been posing, naked, an artist directing me for his pencil to trace my outlines. As I lay there I thought of you, your hands stroking round my curves, drawing me into my mind's eye. Little wisps of smoke puffed up from a wood-burner like small coughs and its smell wrapped me in Autumn, sketching me into silk mornings of crisp dew light and musky duvets.