I’m young enough to be technology savvy but the pace at which social media is evolving is leaving me whiplashed. First, there used to be Myspace. Then there was LinkedIn and then followed Facebook. Recently I stumbled upon Flickr and soon after Tumblr. I’ve been told there is now Instagram and this morning I came across Pinterest. Whoa! How many picture sharing sites can we possibly need? I spent some time exploring Pinterest and came across this boy from the band Blood On The Dance Floor. The songs on Youtube let’s just say are not to my taste but Jayy von Monroe? Well, he is a feast for the eyes now isn’t he?
What is Love?
The definition is simple.
Love is You.
You’re watching me while your life passes by. My pretty face, it captivates you. I have sugary black skin and you so want to lick it. My long frame is the stuff of dreams. Your dreams. How easy, you think, I must have it with whomever I fancy. You’re dreaming. Get on with your life. Enjoy your own story. Why, you imagine my bony fingers drumming your chest, tracing the hairy dip between your ruddy pecs. The hour hand has gone round the clock and you really should stop. Oh, you know you could make me happier than the one I’m with? Really? Get on with you. I’m no one. I’m just a pretty face with a beautiful body. We kiss and it’s special. It’s our wedding day and attending: your parents, my parents, our friends, the guardian angels who brought us together. Quit. Dreaming. Get on with your story. I’m just a pretty face like millions who have been before me. Those boys were pursued from Persepolis to Athens, from Rome to the Vatican. Your Achilles to my Patroclus. My Alcibiades to your …? One day my good looks will be gone, gone and you won’t want me anymore. Quit watching me while your life passes by.
Black as liquorice she was
Walking through the train station
Head ping-ponging on proud shoulders
Her back, ninety degrees to the floor
Wore no makeup, she didn’t
Her face translucently chemical free
Skin, slightly mottled
Like fine sandpaper
Happy, the smile that she wore
If only her mouth had bled lipstick
Her eyes had danced behind long lashes
Her cheeks had spelt blossom
Oh boy, she’d have stun. Stun!
And no head would have dared ignore
But she was fine as she was
All black as liquorice