Winter of Summers Read online

  Just for Now

  I surrendered

  to the constant,

  that was the cradle

  of your arms,

  rocking me to sleep—

  like the ebb and flow

  of a restless tide,

  that never tired

  or stopped to think,

  how kisses flowed

  from silent lips,

  beneath sighing trees

  our love complete,

  no questions posed

  in happiness found—

  how rare it is to find

  the impossible,

  if just for now

  and only once.

  All About You

  I love how you take control, your eyes staring into mine. My hard cock throbbing beneath the grip of your tight fingers. Long legs straddling my waist. Your fierce smile giving way to a loud moan as you grind your wet pussy against my waist. Fucking me not for love, or even my pleasure. This is all about you and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Blue Skies

  We are like hot-air balloons. To fly—we first have to cut loose the deadweight that is holding us back.

  In Letters Sent

  The things I wrote

  in letters sent,

  to fall in love

  the words intent,

  each sentence came

  and sadly went,

  my soaring heart

  now in descent,

  to crash and burn

  in life’s torment.

  Just Another Word

  A patch of green

  on desert sand—

  made me think

  about us,

  how we came together,

  our arms spanning an ocean,

  reaching out,

  never giving up—

  even when hope

  seemed like a distant concept,

  just another word.

  I Miss You

  My pen knows no limit when it comes to expressing my love for you, but when we’re apart, I miss you beyond words.

  Tokoriki

  Here it is—

  my island,

  the sweet scent

  of frangipani,

  carried in the arms

  of a gentle breeze,

  serenaded by a sea—

  beating a slow rhythm

  on a golden drum.

  How beautiful the moon—

  rising in balmy skies,

  where stars tumble

  into luminescent waves

  breaking on a distant reef.

  Your body bathing

  in its light,

  skin the color

  of silver,

  reading Murakami

  by candlelight.

  Memories—

  like a siren’s song,

  calling me back

  to this place,

  where lovers

  come home.

  A New Beginning

  I read this morning that NASA had discovered a new planet capable of life. Somewhere faraway in another galaxy. A tiny blue dot found by a giant telescope. “A New Beginning,” the headline screamed.

  Of course, all the enthusiastic words conveniently sidestepped the inconvenient truth. The reality of the hundred or so years it would take to reach this potential new home with our current technology. Which got me thinking, imagine if we could just click our fingers and magically travel there in an instant. Depart this dying planet we call Earth and start living in some new paradise. Would we?

  A question I neatly folded into the back of my mind and took with me to lunch. Sitting in the pretty courtyard of my favorite restaurant, La Luna, which served the most wonderful Italian cuisine. The wine list alone was incentive enough to visit. A collection of rare and dusty bottles gifted to the place by a wealthy Italian countess in her will. The entire contents from her expansive cellar, which sat beneath a medieval castle. Just one of the many homes she owned back in the ’80s.

  Sophia lit a cigarette, a habit she had still failed to break throughout countless New Year’s resolutions. Blowing the smoke upward into the warm afternoon air.

  She was wearing a white flowing dress that accentuated her summer tan and flame-red hair. A pair of Karen Walker sunglasses framing her pretty face and pink lipsticked lips.

  “So pleased you managed to get a table outside and one with plenty of shade,” she said smiling.

  It was, in my humble opinion, one of the better tables in the courtyard. Tucked neatly away in the far corner, underneath a crooked olive tree whose branches reached over the ivy-clad brick wall. A perfect spot for lovers to chink glasses with starry eyes, or spies to trade dark secrets, or in our case, two close friends who loved to talk about all manner of nonsense.

  “Well, I thought we were long overdue a decent lunch,” I replied, eyeing the pack of Jolly Rogers lying next to her Hermès purse with envy. I took out a shiny new silver contraption from my light blue linen jacket and quickly took in two deep lungfuls of clove vape juice.

  “Finished your book last night,” Sophia said, grinning. “Loved it. I think it’s the best you’ve written. More reflective, much deeper, and I’m relieved you resisted to jump on the poetry bandwagon and fill it with just six-word, incomprehensible sweet nothings and lazy metaphors.”

  I had recently received an advanced copy of my new book, Cult of Two, from the publisher, and as always, I had given it to Sophia to read for her no-holds-barred opinion.

  “Oh, I think I’m just as guilty of writing the odd one-liner. So much can often be said with so little,” I replied, taking another hit of vape and laughing.

  “Yes, but you know what I mean. A lot of what’s written today and called poetry is little more than senseless fluff, meaningless drivel.”

  “That’s a bit harsh. Some of it is pretty damn good and it’s wildly popular with a lot of people.”

  Sophia laughed. “Yes, I guess you’re right. I am guilty of sometimes hate reading books.”

  “Well, since you’re wearing your bitchy hat, what do you honestly think about my latest book?”

  “I told you. I loved it. The poetry seems a lot more introspective, real, and the prose is beautifully melancholic and thought provoking. It reads like you’ve gone up a level. Lifted your game. You really should stop dithering and write a fucking novel.”

  The waiter politely interrupted us, pencil poised, and ran through the specials of the day.

  I chose the platter of calamari to share and the smoked salmon linguini. Sophia removed her sunglasses, scanned the menu quickly and selected the slow-braised lamb shoulder served with roasted seasonal vegetables. A stunning bottle of Pietracupa Greco di Tufo on the side.

  Our glasses were quietly topped up with sparkling water and the waiter slipped away, moving in between the crowded tables like a champion ballroom dancer.

  Sophia took a sip of water and lit another cigarette. I couldn’t resist it any longer. I reached across the table and I took one from the pack.

  “Here you go,” she chuckled gleefully, flicking her gold lighter with expert dexterity, its flame mocking my lack of willpower.

  No matter how much I had tried to convince myself otherwise, no amount of sickly sweet vape juice and plumes of fake smoke could come close to the real thing.

  Old habits die hard.

  —

  As usual, the food was amazing. I watched with some regret as our waiter took away our empty dessert plates, leaving behind just our wine glasses, the bottle of wine, and a clean ashtray.

  Sophia leaned back in her chair and sighed.

  “If only we could eat like this all the time. I mean, imagine being ab
le to afford having your own personal chef to whip up delicious treats whenever you felt like it. Now, that would be like living in a perfect world.”

  I reached for another cigarette from Sophia’s pack, lit it, and blew a smoke ring.

  “Speaking of perfect worlds, I read an interesting article this morning. Apparently NASA has discovered a new planet capable of life.”

  “Really? Well, what are we waiting for, let’s go!” Sophia said, laughing.

  I topped up our wine glasses and fired off the question that had been spinning around in my head all day.

  “At the moment, it would take decades to travel to it, but what if you could just click your fingers and be there? Would you go? I mean on the basis that this new planet was already set up for living, just like Earth but without all the pollution, wars, and other miserable stuff. A new beginning.”

  Sophia drained the wine from her glass and gave me one of her infamous intense stares. “And where’s the inevitable ‘but?’ You’re selling the dream and it sounds a little too good to be true.”

  “Okay, here’s the but. It’s a one-way trip. No going back. You have to leave all your family and friends behind. A brand new start.”

  “Ha! I can already see a plot hole in your question,” she replied. “Why couldn’t they just click their fingers too and come with me?”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Fair point. I guess this hypothetical question is more about the choice of living in a possible utopia versus remaining in a morally bankrupt world.”

  “It’s a ridiculous question and a loaded one. I would obviously choose to stay given that choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my family and friends behind no matter how marvelous this new planet was or could be.”

  I stubbed my cigarette out and poured another wine. Sophia’s answer sparked another thought.

  “Makes me think of how terrible it must be for refugees. How they often have no choice but to flee their homes and seek refuge overseas in some new country that is totally alien to them. Far away from family and friends. Everything they have ever known.”

  “I think we can never truly know just how traumatic that must be. Even if it is to a safer place than the one they have been forced to leave behind,” Sophia said, the sadness clearly visible on her face.

  “I agree. It’s incomprehensible. Unless you have walked in their shoes you honestly have no idea.”

  “Puts our petty problems into perspective,” Sophia said, reaching for my hand across the table. “We are so blessed to live the lives we do.”

  Sophia was dead right.

  —

  It was a stunning sunset. A giant melting sun gripping hold of puffy tropical clouds before letting go and collapsing into a calm sea.

  A refreshing, cool breeze blew through the open window of Sophia’s bedroom—the scent of salt and seaweed in the air.

  I always felt at peace here. In the little beach house that overlooked the half-moon shaped bay. A private sanctuary hidden away high on a hill, where palm trees and whistling birds completed the pretty picture.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Sophia said.

  “I love this place,” I replied, turning away from the window to meet her dreamy gaze. “Almost as much as I love you.”

  She was sitting up in the bed, a white sheet wrapped around her, covering her nakedness.

  “Oh, stop it. Don’t start getting all sentimental. Where is my cynical poet? My Mr. Misery?”

  “I wouldn’t call myself cynical, just perhaps a realist. And as for being a misery, I consider myself an optimist actually.”

  My response made Sophia burst out laughing. “Ha! Who are you trying to convince? Not so long ago you were entertaining the idea of packing your bags and heading off to that new planet.”

  I felt a witty reply building inside my head but before I could deliver it, Sophia beckoned me back to the bed with her finger.

  “Let’s continue this conversation in bed,” she said grinning. “My legs can’t wait to hear what your hands have to say.”

  —

  It was past midnight.

  We sat on yellow-striped deck chairs in Sophia’s garden staring at the full moon. Taking swigs from a bottle of rum. The perfume of sex clinging to our warm skin. It seemed like our friendship had set sail on a different course. One that didn’t need a map or compass to find paradise.

  Sophia handed me my book, opened to a page marked by a folded corner.

  “It’s one thing to read a book but quite another to hear the voice behind the words speak them,” she said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the night air. “Read to me, my love, and please never stop.”

  —

  Beneath the Desert Stars

  I found myself

  beneath the desert stars,

  far away—

  from a world

  where love existed,

  lost in conversation

  with a silent

  constellation,

  wishing you

  were mine.

  Why is it so—

  when hands let go,

  it is the heart

  that holds on tight,

  like the final flicker

  of a fading star—

  taken by the light.

  Wisdom

  Wisdom—

  it is said,

  comes with the passing of years,

  but it seems nothing

  is really learned,

  between the lines dug

  on a furrowed brow,

  the repeated mistakes

  neatly buried,

  by my own hand—

  while yours continues

  to push the plough.

  Live Your Life

  Don’t live your life based on other people’s expectations. Listen to the person who knows you best. You.

  Respect

  So she gave

  you a smile,

  but that’s no excuse,

  to justify

  your unwanted

  attention.

  It’s just an illusion,

  your fucked-up delusion,

  not a permission

  to take her to bed.

  It’s time

  to respect,

  instead of expect,

  to acknowledge

  the wrongs

  of the past.

  And when she

  says no,

  you know it

  means no,

  and just once

  it needs only

  be said.

  I Was Wrong

  For years I convinced myself that my actions were driven by sound judgment and unwavering confidence. I was wrong. It was my stupid ego that led me down this lonely road to nowhere.

  Take Not

  Take not what is mine

  to never give,

  for this heart

  is a ring

  on another’s finger,

  just leave me be,

  free my thoughts

  from this temptation,

  hear my cry

  for quiet mercy,

  please—

  just one more kiss

  before you go.

  Friday Epiphany

  It is rare to find an unhappy fool but all too easy to spot a miserable genius.

  Truth or Dare?

  Truth or dare? How we loved to play that party game as teenagers. No matter which one we chose, it was just all a bit of fun. No serious repercussions. Except perhaps that time when Mark jumped off the shed roof and spent the rest of the summer break with his leg in plaster. Even when Penny admitted she had a crush on her sports teache
r, Miss Waddle, I think that was her name, we all just shrugged it off with howls of laughter.

  Whatever happened to those innocent times?

  When did it all change?

  How did we end up here?

  Straitlaced and judgmental. Boring adults who bite their lips before speaking. Too afraid to say what we really think and feel. Tiptoeing our way through inane dinner conversations. Playing a brand new game. Where telling the truth has become the ultimate dare.

  A Love This Strong

  When the last drop of youth has been sipped, and we become like autumn leaves, waiting patiently for that final gust of wind to blow—the love we share will only grow stronger.

  The Birthday Party

  A frosty white

  paints morning grass,

  the crunch of footsteps

  startling crows,

  a black cloud rising

  in misty gray,

  a veil worn thin

  by winter sun,

  a fallen love

  marked by a marble cross,

  white roses placed

  on scattered leaves,

  from trees laid bare

  by death’s release,

  another year—

  no candles burn,

  no cake is cut,

  no wishes blown,

  our happiness tied

  with ribbons red,

  the gift you gave

  once made for two,

  I now give back

  to you—

  alone.

  It’s My Life

  Who are you to tell me what to do and how to live?

  Stop thinking your mistakes are mine to own. Take back the cracked mirror you so arrogantly hold up to my face and remember who broke it in the first place.

  Leave me the fuck alone to build my paper castles.

  Or burn them to the ground.

  Carousel

  The relationship was going nowhere but that’s what I loved about it. Uncomplicated and predictable. Like riding on a beautiful carousel with a pocketful of coins.

  Your Voice

  How I longed to hear your voice again, my hand beneath the sheets, eyes slowly closing—listening to every single word. It wasn’t just what you said, but how you said it, that kept me up at night.