Tallulah Thursday

Victoria Mosley - TallulahThursday - Book Cover Layout - Kindle Cover

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The Red Dragon Bed

Victoria-Mosley---The-Red-Dragon-Bed---Book-Cover-V2

Kindle edition

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 (Extract)

Chapter 3

First dream

Every time she lies down to sleep with the gold Dragons of the bed-head coiled to spring, and the room sensual with the smell of lilies, it begins to happen. The air starts to buzz around her with small almost imperceptible harmonics of white noise like the humming of insects on a summer’s day or the voices she might expect to hear sea creatures talking in. At least these are the only ways that she can begin to describe it to herself, although she knows that it doesn’t explain anything. Going to sleep has never been such a pleasure before and often during the busy days when she is trying to get the house straight and sorted after the move, she glances at the bed and longs to just lie down and let this world wash away from her.

This evening she is thinking of the man she met on the beach her mouth curved into the slightest of smiles as she remembers his smell as he leant over her. Exotic strong, musk and the faintest hint of incense .Outside the window the night curves on and she can glimpse the wide expanse of water beyond the rooftops. The moon hangs in the sky above the roofs like a large lamp spreading a pathway of silver light on the sea beneath. Part of her wants to go down to the sea shore and feel the wind in her hair again but the dull ache in her side prevents her and she knows that she needs rest.

Her pillow is covered in the palest of damask silk and the bedspread is white antique lace with a vibrant scarf in deepest pink thrown over the top of it, bought hungrily from her travels in the Grenadine Islands last year.  The pattern is of angel fish merging into one another and she had bought it from a woman in a beach hut on Paradise beach in Carriacao. She remembers as she folds it on the end of the bed how she bought it because she wanted to bring home with her some of the blinding white heat and burning sunshine of the island to this pale grey shore of a country that she is stuck in.

Sleep when it comes is firstly deep and unconscious and then somewhere around midnight when the moon blinks over the chimney pots shining a pale silver streak across the room and onto her sleeping face she begins the dream. It has been the same every night, at least it starts the same way but every night it seems to progress a little further. First of all the room seems to vibrate and shift, all the angles becoming smooth and the air expectant. Then slowly languorously she has the faintest perception of a presence in the room with her and she struggles to open her eyes but she can’t. He seems to emanate from the walls like water or damp wetness coalescing into the shape of a figure, tall undefined but definitely male. She can’t see his face even when he comes to stand at the end of the bed and stretches out an arm towards her. She has the impression that the fingers of his hands seem to elongate and move over the bed towards her stroking pulling back the covers so that he can look at her lying there. Although she wants to she’s unable to move, and all she can hear is the sound of her breath rising and falling and the murmur of his voice where he is telling her that he wants her in a language that she doesn’t understand.

     She can feel her body begin to ache with wanting him to touch her more and she opens her mouth to speak to him but her throat is dry and she can say nothing. His fingertips are on her lips drawing the contours of her mouth and he pushes her lips open and inserts the very tip of his finger. It slides in and down her throat and it is cold and cool like mountain spring water but it leaves a fire within her that spreads down her throat to her heart which seems to swell in her chest and her body arches up towards the shadow of him which is immobile above her. This pulsing heat continues down through her belly button down to the nub of her sex. ………..

Searcher

 

mojon-cobwebs-1

 

 

I wake in the night

messages from strangers

stick like cobwebs on my pillow;

moth flutters around my head

I panic

 

Outside the dawn

barricades the moon

seagulls blare dissonant cries

that tear my ears

ripping pieces of sleep

 

You’re searching for

a pound of flesh

a place to hang your soul

dislodge your debris

like flotsam and jetsam.

 

I wake in the night

room disgorges me

I’m simply passing through

fog fields of your mind

where you claw and suck

 

at primal sustenance

 

Hold

RENOIR

 

When you hold me

my body melts into

furnac’d colours

where rainbows flow instead of blood.

 

When you hold me

myth becomes possible

and nothing can be misconstrued

as anything but love.

 

Yes when you hold me

my mind stills and orchestral voices

fan the trees, and we embody

what we were meant to be,

 

a living halo of our needs

wrapped in one supernal moment.

 

 

Out of control

 

 

London+fireworks

 

 

 

Out of control

adrenaline fizz, I have

to drink my way

to the other side of you.

 

I hold you

like a crucible like a cross

like a communion wafer

melting between tongue and teeth.

 

It is a beginning,

I can look for signs, portents

I can make you up, or

deal open handed with reality.

 

I think you are interesting

you are fascinated by me

we slip away from body’s song

from getting wet and dirty.

 

Three hours away

you slumber, and there is

a glacier between us:

you iridesce in corners

 

watching for neutrons;

 

I lick my wounds like a fox

screaming at uncertainty

prowling the neighbourhood

for signs of you.

 

I want to make you mean something

I want this to be huge

I create a cinema for us to star in,

the dragon lurks mesmerised by my power.

 

I take pieces of you

extract your smell from fingernails.

three hours away you slumber,

while I recover,

 

moment by moment.

 

 

 

Phantom

 

knot glph

 

Wind, tunnels tornadoes

electric storms caress the desert,

silence is the best.

 

Whispers disappear

in the voice of every day,

I can’t hear your words,

 

I can’t hear them

above the noise

of normality.

 

Sunday bells chime,

you call my name across

sky scrapers, empty beaches,

 

oceans that go on for ever.

 

 

Tree turns to gold leaf

another summer rises and falls

I am somewhere beyond light

 

and surf.

 

Waiting for the cold,

from a cold seeping through

centuries of bone.

 

Shuffled from sanctuary

to sanctuary, defiled by

city street lights, not listening,

 

and  I just don’t listen.

 

Morning windows

sticky with night sweat I turn to you

and find empty space.

 

Internet connections

light waves, satellites

none of these bring you nearer.

 

Hidden behind faces

empty railway stations

sometimes the breeze

 

brings your smell………..

 

 

 

 

 

 

A sharing

image for a sharing

 

 

 

We’d talked of everything but God,

love was never mentioned

as we slid to the places which hides his name.

 

You had learnt to stroke women,

undress their corseted seclusion

& we both thought we had a

 

firm grip of the situation.

 

Control passed backward and forward

like the bass beat of an elemental ritual,

it was in our bodies knowledge

 

that we hung our surrendering.

 

Fire meeting fire, sex meeting death,

& all the people that had passed through

our fingers like dry sand.

 

That night I dreamt a pulsing ocean,

flung wide the French windows to be engulfed,

in mer-men, horses swimming tidal torrent

 

knowing the room would be drowned

in salt trimmings

leaving seaweed, coloured  pictures .

 

There is no definition of a future,

by chance we met and chance

is driving the postcard where we write our names

 

in black and white for the world to watch.

 

Meanwhile my thighs hold your imprint,

skin bruised a tattoo to stay or

fade with the week’s light,

 

our feelings an enigma

where tolerance flames in

both our sets of eyes.

 

Lives unravelled like dyed cloth

spun with invisible movements of animal

longings, drying in the sun of a dawn sharing

 

on an early morning coupling

where the blossoms hide.

 

 

The last time

 

 

Nude with moon

 

Time hung suspended

above the bed  where you and I

wrapped the past in present pleasure

we were alone in two voids

you’d learnt the sharp incline

of bitter tears across my swollen  emptiness,

I knew your every move and you

had my cynicism branded on your shoulder.

There is no rest , you strain to disentangle

I cat like crave the warm caress of familiar smell

beg to return to faded haunts dispossessed of dignity:

you cling to “might have beens” nothing changed

our cries fleece the night sky dependency a postcard

where I write our names blood weary .

 

Let it be

Picture 004

 

 

Let it be,

don’t pick the bones

so clean

there was magic somewhere there

stars were in your eyes

you personified a dream

I was always meant to fly

out of sight.

 

Let it be,

don’t fling us to the ground

don’t sully

what we have often been

a hand to hold,

a voice in lonely night,

a meaning so profound

we lost it.

 

Can’t you see

mortality’s a hollow coil

illusionary themes

have brought us  to our knees

explanations stutter

leave us snarling

face to face

still failing.

 

Let it be,

rawness rubbed with salt

is aching,

nothing  you or I can ever say

will take away  the joy

of knowing you again:

but now we’ve turned and walked away

infinity plays her rabid games,

 

with our hearts.

 

The Absinthe drinker

Florence face

 

 

 

The evening breaks, shards of brittle hopes

room gyrate’s, waving bottles, searching hands,

drums inscribe a mating ritual

eyes glaze in alcoholic haze

& I like smoke in smokeless zone ,

glide deride and disappear.

 

Glances catch and hold

for see through seconds

mouths mime snake-like words

that turn upon themselves

& desperation stalks the tinsel’d surface

asking for an owner .

 

Lothario like you weave your web

attach me to your crucifix

pinion me on black velvet

watch my colours stretch and throb,

gambling on an errant hatching

to fleece your open arms .

 

Decency is who you pledge to be,

‘’a no agenda, want to guide you

worn the tee-shirt know your problems

let me help you friend;’’

we spar and jar like clumsy jouster

you say you’re trading words

 

but I know all you want is me .

 

Absinthe spurts hallucinogenic flame

the night girls loll in stockinged legs;

wrong  time , wrong place , wrong body,

wise wounds tight taped to breathe again

& I like smoke in smokeless zone

blow rings to circumvent your pain .