Sunday, July 06, 2008
Just another love song:
The Beautiful Weekends
Saturday morning, the red ache. A monthly reminder of the body, my womb pinning me in the world. I stay in bed, you bring me hot water bottles and tea, rig up the video so I can watch films.
Saturday evening, in a bar. A muddle of people, old schoolfriends and colleagues. You and I sit back to back, ignoring each other, talking freely and every so often feeling that slight pressure, warmth in the base of the spine.
Saturday night, when we get home, firing the fake-gas fire and sitting by the coals, rambling with beer and cigarettes into the small hours. Giving each other secrets like gifts, knowing that here, in this room, we're unshockable.
Sunday morning, the dark craze of hangover, sucking your cock while you sleep. Waiting for the moment I know you will wake up and turn me over, fuck me so matter-of-factly. Open me up like a magician.
Sunday afternoon, driving the winding road into the rough beauty of the highlands. Climbing up through the rusted hillside, the banana-yellow gorse, the burning sweet air. Knees as weak as string. We reach the waterfall and behind us is this beautiful country, the gathering winter, the storm clouds approaching. Together we watch the river rushing over black rocks, the noise too loud to speak over. You hold my hand. I think - this would be a good place to die. I would be happy