Category Archives: Wears my ring

To the end of love

I have said goodbye to them all.

To Jenny, to Beauty, to the woman with the moon in her eyes. To every possibility of a lover enchanted by my words. To the walled garden, and to temporary friends. And to the desk within earshot of trains.

It made me think I was in motion when I was not.  Perhaps it is why I stayed so long.  Too long.

I drove home with the sun at its highest, with the top down and my guitar and half a dozen suits on the back seat.  The wind ran its fingers through my hair less tenderly than the girl had done when she’d lain in my arms for the last time that morning.  It had been such a lovely evening, such a perfect night. It has gone forever.

.She did not cry.  She still believes.  Yet it is over.

And now, I cannot decide if this is the beginning of an end, or the end of a beginning.

At the moment it feels like freedom.

I am home.  With the one who knows me best.

She will dance me to the end of love.


Posted by on August 5, 2012 in Still Life, Wears my ring


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The sun was still captured in her golden curls.

She was facing him in the grand-georgian-dining-room-made-recently-modern.  Her eyes were bluer than the washed skies and yet as grey as Welsh slate.  Her smile was as warm and easy as the soft early evening.

They raised glasses to whatever point in their long history the day represented.

She, the least materialistic woman he has ever known, fell in love with a limited edition photograph hanging on a nearby wall.  It was a stark black-and-white capture of a place of almost-pilgrimage they both knew well.

He sought out the restaurant manager and negotiated a price.

She shook her head with delight as they carried it to the car.

Sunbeams danced from out of her hair and lit up the coming night.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I found this lovely art on the web. I cannot locate the painter. If it is yours, I apologise for the theft and will happily credit you or take it down


Posted by on July 28, 2012 in Still Life, Wears my ring


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But Still

But Still


There is a distant echo of your touch

Upon my skin

The faintest of memories

But still

A remembering

Of something soft and special

And intimate and close

And of days when we

Had more than most.


The passing years have been less kind

To me than you

These deep cobwebs of age

But still

This desire burns through

To see you dressed in evening clothes

And your blue eyes darkened

And you gliding like a dream

Proudly at my side


This tired and quiet heart still quickens

When you are close

Triggered by your body’s scent

But still

It makes me catch my breath

Like no other has ever done

And can ever do again

And I ache for you

The way I did back then.


Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant


Because, despite all my considerable foolishness, she is the first and last and everything in between.


Posted by on July 18, 2012 in Poetry, Wears my ring


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English Rose

Her blue/grey eyes know him.

Better than anyone.

It is early evening on a Friday.  He has driven for four hours and he is finally home.  Rain is dripping solemnly from the trees.  The garden is lush with green leaves, and is beautiful with the forest of plants she has nurtured with an easy hand.

The house is chaotic with change and newly-returned, still newly-adult, children.

She smiles at his noisy entrance and sympathises with his journey.

She touches his face and makes him tea.

This song is for her.


English Rose by Paul Weller

No matter where I roam
I will return to my English rose
For no bonds can ever tempt me from she
I’ve sailed the seven seas,
Flown the whole blue sky.
But I’ve returned with haste to where my
Love does lie.
No matter where I go I will return to my English Rose
For nothing can ever tempt me from she.
I’ve searched the secret mists
I’ve climbed the highest peaks
Caught the wild wind home
To hear her soft voice speak
No matter where I roam
I will return to my English Rose
For no bonds can ever keep me from she.

I’ve been to ancient worlds
I’ve scoured the whole universe
And caught the first train home
To be at her side.
No matter where I roam
I will return to my English Rose
For no bonds, nothing and no-one can ever keep me from she



Posted by on July 9, 2012 in Music, Wears my ring


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Safe Harbour

These are not tears.

It is only smoke from the last burning bridge that has stung my eyes.

It was not easy to strike the match. Yet once alight the structure was gone in seconds.  In truth there was only my side of it to burn. The river below it ran fast and cold.

There is now no reason other than income for me to continue with these repeated working sojourns that take me away from home. With every passing week the bleak sea between Monday and Friday widens.  By Wednesday I feel as if I am stranded in the horse latitudes, my every sense straining for the faint whispering breeze of the weekend to save me from being forever becalmed.

I need to find a position that is close to everything that is now dear to me.

Somewhere that is within easy reach of the safe and certain harbour of her smile.


Posted by on June 19, 2012 in Still Life, Wears my ring


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Burning Bridges

I have been burning bridges

The days are wreathed in smoke.  I have set fire to all of the breathless, exotic nights and sensual, perfumed afternoons that might have been. I have watched the flames consume the leather and the rope, the blindfold and the whip, and the gentlest, most loving of touches on waiting skin.  I have seen desire, passion, submission and romance evaporate in the heat.

I have witnessed the end of the dance, and of the dancing.  The movement and the rhythm smoulder sullenly in the ashes.  I can still taste charcoal and sorrow in my mouth.

There is no return to the dark, decadent, gorgeous place where I once was a lover, and a master.  There is no going forward into the surrendering arms of yearning women whose ache resonates with my own.

These sacrifices have purified me.  For the first time in more years than I care to remember, I am clean.

I am going home.


Posted by on June 11, 2012 in Lovers Past, Wears my ring


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She was the golden girl of her generation.

Her intelligence was deep, her beauty flawless, her skin perfect, her body stunning, her movement full of grace. She played guitar like a gypsy and piano like an angel.  She was peaches and cream and yet she was rock and roll.  Everyone wanted her or wanted to be her.

The first time I saw her she was gliding through a party and turning every head.  When her gaze rested upon me my whole world was turned utterly inside out and upside down.

What she saw in me I still wonder to this day.  I was a writer, a revolutionary, a dreamer, a child in the body of a man.  I was penniless, lost, a rebel who had failed his cause.  I had nothing to give except hunger, and the wide and restless pursuit of something undefined.

Yet she danced for me alone in the small hours of a magical night when the air was soft and the moonlight silvered her hair.  She gave herself completely, her body wrapping itself about me, her heart beating to the rhythm of my own.  We became lost in each other and we found each other.  I gave her all my dreams and she showed me a paradise on earth.

In the morning she left with a smile that made me dizzy with love.

She still wears my ring.



Posted by on May 26, 2012 in Wears my ring


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Straight to You

Miles stretched out before me.

Straight to you

All the towers of ivory are crumbling
And the swallows have sharpened their beaks
This is the time of our great undoing
This is the time that I’ll come running
Straight to you
For I am captured
Straight to you
For I am captured
One more time
The light in our window is fading
The candle gutters on the ledge
Well now sorrow, it comes a-stealing
And I’ll cry, girl, but I’ll come a-running
Straight to you
For I am captured
Straight to you
For I am captured
Once again
Gone are the days of rainbows
Gone are the nights of swinging from the stars
For the sea will swallow up the mountains
And the sky will throw thunder-bolts and sparks
Straight at you
But I’ll come a-running
Straight to you
But I’ll come a-running
One more time
Heaven has denied us its kingdom
The saints are drunk howling at the moon
The chariots of angels are colliding
Well, I’ll run, babe, but I’ll come running
Straight to you
For I am captured
Straight to you
For I am captured
One more time




Posted by on April 13, 2012 in Music, Still Life, Wears my ring


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My eyes

She is tall enough to reach the sky.

We met almost beyond memory, amongst the first hopes, possible dreams, and endless days.  She was long limbed and perfect with grey-blue eyes that could search souls. Her hair was a wild storm of golden curls – a sun bleached halo about her lovely head.  Her smile banished clouds. She turned heads and captivated without guile.

Time has been kind, barely thickening her body and touching her face with honest lines that define her beauty rather than diminish it. She has taken on the mantle of age with ease, elegance and grace. She still commands a second look from hopeful strangers

We are no longer lovers yet we are much closer than that.

Her children have my eyes.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano


Posted by on April 1, 2012 in Still Life, Wears my ring


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