I want to be the one holding your hand While strolling along the summer night strand Just like they did then in those bygone days When a reserved kiss was saying goodnight And eyes would speak as they went their own ways Was it just a kiss he left on her lips? And is lust and sex a new invention Those practiced hands unfastening the clips I sure love had more than we dare mention Untightening the fabric and whalebone stays Revealing her skin as he held her hips But was such pleasure then a contraband If honourable was his intention Then love would never deny such delight
I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...
View more posts
