Loving History

Hi all,

So today in our seminar we did poetry. Which, when we first started, was something that I was actually quite scared/uncomfortable about.

But we did some great activities and at the end we had a chance to write our own sonnets (using some phrases/images etc. that we had earlier devised).

I was not feeling confident about it but I came up with this poem and I don't completely hate it.

So, with little revision, here is a poem (dedicated to Adamo).

♥Nancy♬

Loving History

You wear a suit of shiny bruised protection:

Metal covers your head, elbows and knees.

As sounds of violence echo through the trees,

I remove your helm, with great affection.

With lemonade, we drink some ginger wine.

I kiss your neck with gentle, loving slurps.

We drink until the bubbles make you burp!

(These kisses let me show you that you’re mine.)

With every sip of warming ginger spice

We head a little closer to our tent.

To removal of your armour you consent;

Drunk, you let me pay you my bride-price.

The outcome of the battle is a mystery

To we who are in love and living history.

Delicious Erotica

Hello from EDINBURGH!!! :D

Yes, I'm in Scotland. Holy carp! I'm here for a creative writing course and it is truly brilliant. There is a mountain right next door to me, I'm not even kidding. I climbed it! :D

Anyways, this course is very educational and the city is very inspirational so, naturally, I've been doing some writing.

This piece is one that I don't want to share in class (although I did share with my spec fic editorial group, even though it's off-topic).

Contrary to convention, the title is at the end (it's in bold so you can tell!)

Hope you enjoy it and, as always, leave me some feedback if you get a chance :D

♥Nancy♬

I thrust my tongue between soft folds and my eyes roll back in pleasure, eyelids fluttering just a little. The taste is sweet and fruity and reminds me of summer - not summer here, this chilly attempt at a warm season where you still want to hide under the covers to make love, but summer at home, that suffocating heat that sends you strolling into the pool first thing in the morning, legs and tongues entwining in the wet because bed is too hot. Liquid pours over my fingers, into my mouth, over my face. I look up and lick my lips, suck my fingers, wipe my face dry before diving down again. I am reminded of Christmas dessert, pavlova topped with tart kiwi and passionfruit and I think about Christmas dessert here, probably heavy pudding, the haggis of sweets. But this taste, these sweet juices pouring down my throat with every lick, suck, nibble, this is summer and love and home all in a tastebud-tantalising package. A flick of my tongue up over a ridge and I am intoxicated by the slip-and-slide texture and reminded of brandy and nutmeg. Sugar, spice, everything nice, that’s what this is made of. I find myself moaning in pleasure. When I realise that I am vocalising, I stop, blush, look up. My banana nutella crepe makes my hands sticky as I walk down the windy Edinburgh road.

Crepes