I have been in reflective mood.
It is that time of year. Fast approaching another birthday. Another mark of fading.
It is that time of year. The snow still falling in an England that is weary of winter. And yet the first brave buds are green on bare branches, and the daffodils wait like shivering sentries for a command to bloom.
It is that time of year. Anniversaries of two glorious D/s relationships that both closed just when new suns had started to stretch the pale skin of my shoulders and promise summer. My time with Jenny has been well documented, but I have been less than forthcoming about Rebecca.
It was for her that I wrote No More the Red Rose – my favourite ‘performance poem’ – despite the fact that it might show me as raw, wounded and vulnerable
It was only ever intended to be read aloud, so I have just posted the audio here.
It is that time of year.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from Little Cat Eye