Tag Archives: Thomas Saliot

If we were strangers

Art by Henry Saliot


If we were strangers

and I saw you

in a cafe

reading a book

or on a train

gazing from the window

or in the park

walking your dog

or in a restaurant

laughing with friends

or in a supermarket

checking your list

or in a car

stuck at the lights

or in the office

confident and sure

or in a crowd

standing out

I would still want you

like sin



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but true.

Art by Thomas Saliot


Posted by on January 14, 2019 in Poetry, Still Life


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In the middle of our conversation

my eyes are drawn

to the pale,

translucent skin of your throat,

to the shadowed hollow

and your perfect bones.


I am struck blind

by the holiest of visions.


Later staring out of the darkness

my fears are stilled

by the soft

remembered curve of your smile,

and the touch of your hand

when once alone.


I am sublime 

with glorious religion.



This is by no means a new poem of mine, written some years ago and posted here three or four times. But one always adores a neophyte. 


© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

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Posted by on January 6, 2019 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life


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Winter Solstice


He thinks about her.

He is sipping red wine. It fills his mouth with grape and his heart with hope.  Outside it is still raining.

Earlier he had walked the hounds in a brief respite from the deluge.  There had been a delayed monsoon waiting in the dying-leaved trees.

A hidden sun had set invisibly over his grey, sodden, dripping village before four o’clock. The afternoon had been swallowed up by night without a whimper

It is the shortest day.

He lives by the seasons and can already feel the change. The days will lengthen from now. It is a clean, beckoning, hungry new page.

He will write her name on it.

He does not know who she is. And yet he already senses her presence in his life.

He cannot be sure if they have yet made contact, chased shadows, crossed borders, traded smiles, touched hands, exchanged truths, offered up words, or painted pictures on a blank canvas.

He is unable to tell if they are already gently familiar or are completely unconnected strangers.

Yet he is certain, at this change of the solstice, that she is there.  For him.

So he takes another sip and leans back into the soft, comfortable leather of his chair.

He can almost smell her scent on his fingers.



I was certain I had posted a short piece some time ago inspired by the winter solstice which, in the northern hemisphere, is today. I eventually found it under the title ‘Her scent’. I had actually written it in 2012. Time flies.

Much has changed since then. Sadly both of the hounds mentioned in the piece have died. The village has been swapped for an even smaller one. And I have left behind a business life in order to write and do other things.

But it seems to capture the day and the time. So last year I posted it again, with a new title to celebrate the day. But with the same art. I think it meant something to me at the time. Perhaps posting it will be a Winter Solstice tradition.


© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Painting by Thomas Saliot


Posted by on December 21, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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Good things


Good things

seldom happen


by chance.

They usually need

more assistance

than just hoping

for divine intervention.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

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Posted by on October 22, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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I am jealous

of the world

that catches

your scent

that watches

you move

that hears

your voice

that speaks

your name.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot



Posted by on August 7, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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(almost) all


When your days

are dark

and sad

and rainy

I wish you

warm green seas

azure skies

and a hot

golden sun

to stretch

your gorgeous skin

and kiss you

in (almost) all

the places

I would kiss you.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but full of summer, like today

Art by Thomas Saliot



Posted by on May 19, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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Like gunfire


I absolutely love

the staccato sound

of confident high heels


like gunfire

across an expensive


of polished

marble floor



This post is a year old, but I will always love the sound

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot


Posted by on April 23, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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