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Sunday morning reading

January 14, 2018


November 3, 2015


The distant Peugeot grows. It crushes the gravel
to the porch, grinds to a halt. Silence then,

until feet tip-tap up the steep steps to the top.
Her hand’s on the knob, knocks.

Towering over my head
she beckons me to this again with a smile,

asks me how I feel. I hated the intrusion, to start with.
And the early reminder – the first one most

days – that I can no longer believe my dreams.
There won’t be walks to unfamiliar bars

with acquaintances picked up by the unconscious,
she had come to tell me.

Intimidating to be the focus of attention
at this intimate time of day. When I felt

my thing dancing dangerously out under
the duvet, I wanted to wake from the nightmare

before she bared me to bathe me
like a new-born baby. Now I let her

handle me with a refrained amount of pleasure.

Sébastien Houix

Oh, goodness…

May 15, 2015