April 2009

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At night I travel alone on the Silk Road of your body.The scent of burnt musk fills my senses; my breath, a breeze,Blowing through the dark.I trace my finger over your shoulder, finding my way in a familiar place.What I carry is without substance, worth its weight in gold.My destination is to dream.

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Easter Sunday was a good day for us when we were kids, second only to Christmas Day. We couldn’t wait to get home after Mass to unwrap our chocolate eggs! We’d remain in our Sunday best most of the day, as family and friends filed through my parents’ house for tea and biscuits. The religious…

Read More Losing my religion