He swims to the windswept, miserable, English winter holiday season with urgent, desperate strokes.
He hauls himself up on its grey, rocky, precarious shore with tired limbs, a bruised body, a jaded mind and the salty taste of multiple loss in his mouth. He is weary to the bone with work, with untidy confusion, and with human frailty.
He is only hungry for the warmth of his fire, a case of red wine, and the easy comfort of family and friends.
He watches the rain fall in endless silver lines and laments the passing of another year and the fading of its legendary adventures.
The last thing he expects is her.
An impossible creature of bright colours and sunshine, extraordinary beauty, and a perfection of form that takes his breath away. A paradox of pure innocence and of deep, vibrant, sensuality. A gorgeous submissive emerging from a vanilla chrysalis.
An unexpected rare, exotic, almost holy gift waiting to be unwrapped.
To be adored and treasured.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Thomas Saliot
This is a repost. It was inspired by a very beautiful girl some time ago. She has now grown into a beautiful young woman and, I believe, from her writing, she has found love. I am delighted for her. But far, far more important, she has discovered her creative voice and is writing the wonderful poetry she was always destined to write. So it is a good time to repeat this, albeit rather out of season, with added audio.