Breathe.

Saturday night found me sitting in my hotel room (at a convention), drinking Coconut Rum and pineapple juice, and listening to an eclectic mix of party music. Resting my black and green leather flogger on my knees, I contemplated my next step. Finish the writing I had started earlier in the day? Wander into the hallway with the flogger and stir up trouble?

In a one-on-one situation, I have little trouble gaining ground with people. Group dynamics are trickier, particularly when I am in the role of the outsider. It can be a very thin line between ‘interesting fun guy’ and ‘creepy guy’.  The second label was one I didn’t want to even come close to inhabiting.

A disturbingly strong headache made the decision for me and I crashed early (only to be awoken briefly for a rather intriguing, and eye-opening phone call – a topic for another post). When I woke, I packed up my things and slipped out. I felt some regret in not having had the chance to speak to a couple of people I had intended to spend more time with, but I did manage to get some writing onto paper. Such as the poem below.

—

Four breaths
the distance between your
throat and breasts

Three to your stomache
two between your thighs
one to take you in

No breaths to find
the limit of you