Thursday, 25 April 2019


She’s young, sitting legs crossed, arms up holding a mirror slightly over eye height colouring in her eyebrows, checking they are evenly full. Fluffs her fringe and is finished. She puts away the trappings of beauty, uncrossing her legs, thick thighs in black tights spread as they lean against the seat. Knee high black leather boots. Short denim skirt has ridden up into her lap and reveals the space between her legs - covered but still a revelation of knickers hiding under tights. The man next to me, is watching TV on his mobile. His eyes flick from the screen up her skirt and back. 

Standing while I sit. He has smiling eyes, silver streaked hair and light beard. Talking to his companion, they mirror one another. Design. I expect, of some sort. I have to hold back from reaching out. My hands have a desire to touch the textures of this man. Well worn-in tan leather satchel. Blue corduroy jacket. Thin wool sweater covering round belly. 

My hands are missing the pleasure of Zephaniah in the night - fur, foot pads, curled up body and body heat. The symbiotic pleasure of stroking a purring cat. 

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