boodie

My Mother’s Voice Next to my bed is an old chest of drawers, it is a remnant of a very ancient and long since departed bedhead/side drawer combo, inside one of the drawers is a rectangular domed lid box, it is the remnant of what was in some dim distant past a box of handmade chocolates, inside the box are various little bits and bobs, remnants of things long long departed. Inside the box is a little cassette tape, it is a cassette tape that fits inside an answering machine, an answering machine which is also long departed, it is also a remnant, but it’s one of my most prized possessions. I haven’t listened to the tape in

Love Affair She walked into the room in front of him, from behind he could see the limp and the tentative way that she moved, she hurt, he could tell that and his heart ached, he smiled and helped her onto the bed, suppressing a small smile as she grunted, hardly very ladylike. He hauled himself onto the bed and stretched out beside her, he hurt as well, everything ached, he was tired, bone tired, heart tired, soul tired, and yes dead tired, he reached out his hand and stroked her face, a gesture that was automatic but nonetheless filled with love. They had been together for over 22 years now, she had come into his life when he wasn’

'Can I paint on your stomach?' She paused for a moment then nodded, it seemed right, just as his limbs lazily entwined around hers seemed right, some things just are. He readied his paints; she smiled as the brush tickled, and then her amusement changed to awe as he continued painting, each brush stroke delicately adding to the vista unfolding before eyes. He stopped and surveyed her stomach; his eyes twinkled like he had some private joke that he desperately wanted to share with her, suppressed mirth mixed with desire. 'Yes that is a pretty place, I shall be happy there'. He placed his hand on her stomach as he spoke; there wa