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Back to the start

I wish I could put on a blindfold, shut out the here and now, and retrace our steps all the way back to the start. To the time when it was all soft and wet kisses, as I explored the space between your ears, seduced and was seduced, by words and banter and wide-eyed ecstasies.

In this darkness, slipping away from the rigors and demands of time and space and facts gone by, we could rewrite our histories, relearn the shapes of each other’s faces, taste new spices and mine the deep things—surface the truths which choked us in the present.

We could begin again, start anew, freshly introduce with—

“Hi, I saw you—“ “Hi, I—“

Here. Take my tie. You, your scarf. Wrap it; wrap it around our eyes, pull the knot tight. Give me your hands, let me slide past your fingertips and grasp, don’t let go.

Let us go back to beginning. Let us go back to the start.


About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.


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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

January 2014
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