Late nights and lonliness.

With a stretched motorwayed chasm between us and a bottle quaffed it's unwise to type and press return, but Tillie is prone to confessional outpourings and immune to the tuts of imagined outsiders or concerned friends.

I want to be somewhere else and for it all to be easier.
I want to be in our special intimate place, in our silky nighties, where gender is disregarded and we are just lovers and friends, smiling in the half light.
And not here remembering our last meeting and trying to reduce the magnitude of it for other people, to be owned but not disown others.

Who doesn't long to be understood and valued? It's a universal longing, I'm not alone in my yearnings. I want to be conjoined, to be adult and emotionally carefree.
I want to sit beside her, pull her to me and place my temple to her temple and know we are two people together in a vast populous who seek an informed closeness.

There are some bridges that are monumental in there construction and that I am the architect of future designs, for my happiness, that I need to garner every resource. I don't feel tough but know I am.
My ramblings are a chaotic love letter to Angela.
In a world of strange pressures, my fingers will apply weird and irregular pressures to her flesh, and the braille of my touch is a language of tender words that speaks love. I know every love is new, but silly Tillie believes that perhaps you can love and be loved in return. The pads of my fingertips tenderly seek your pleasure and say let me please you.


"We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community."

Dorothy Day