Gradus ad Parnassum

These tangled sheets’ suspended animation:

Calamitous exploit into overindulgence.

Inebriated remnant of erstwhile dreams

Dispersed

An intravenous shot of all bodily senses —

My treasure when alone.

The scent of you that ambles, so stark in indiscretion

Upon my skin in absence of its owner. Calling.

Possessed my fingers rifle, all textures learnt unlearning

And blinded by the memory of you, my vision falters

In luminescent moods. Aquiver in dynastic fall

That voice… I hear it still. Transporting

Impious in staccato,

It ties itself around my wrists in conquest

In permutated taste, surrendered monosyllabic trigger…

I raise no claim on anything but you.  

*

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/05/daily-prompt-five-items/

Danger! Danger! High Voltage!!!

There are (un)expected side-effects to writing about Benedict Cumberbatch…

A little over a decade since I’ve been an adolescent myself, I am suddenly overrun by the libido of a teenage boy. And I miss my husband so damned much.

Writing this Saturday’s post transported me back to that day in December. It’s been two years, and yet… My every sense augmented; my vision, hearing, sense of smell, taste – all amplified a hundred fold.  But nothing was thunderstruck by this stepping back in time as much as my sense of touch.

The Athenian heat burst with textures calling out to me.

I walked around in a daze… my eyes unable to find repose, my fingertips tingling electrified.

The Acropolis museum, filled with so many treasures, did nothing to alter this need to reach out. I had to restrain myself from stepping too near. Marble faces watched me as I walked past, on tiptoes, foot resting against a leg in a dancer’s pose when I stopped to return their gaze. “You can see,” they whispered, “you can see, but you cannot touch.”

In the evening I walked around the National Garden, the Athenian sun turning leaves to amber. I closed my eyes and walked blind awhile, feeling the wind caress my cheek. I breathed in the earthy scent; down an alley it was peppery cool, down another it had a honeysuckle sweetness to it. I could almost taste it. My hands reached out and caressed the coniferous spike of trees as I passed them by. Branches and leaves all greeted the stroke of my palm. Then the long-awaited discovery finally made: a whirling covering of grass.

I took off my sandals and stepped in, my toes working their way into the greensward. Like a child. So much happiness. I could explode for the love of it. I let myself fall on my back in the lap of the meadow, eyes closed, inhaling deeply so that the moment might stay with me a little longer. “Come back. Come back to me…” The world moved, transformed and transported me elsewhere with that one change of perspective.

How can I ever contain it? I’ve never struggled so much to step back into the mundane as I have today…

*

Your time to journey back again? See whether these help you along the way…

6. Truth stranger than fiction… #BenedictCumberbatch, for you to no longer doubt that the story of my meeting Benedict Cumberbatch can be an essay on time and the meaning of life.

And for more on Benedict, if he’s taken your fancy… In the order of appearance:

1.  I don’t fancy Benedict Cumberbatch. Daily Prompt: Pants on Fire or the confession that started it all.

2. Sex with you-know-who will steam up your windows. Beware!

3. COMING SOON… a snippet of Cumberthings yet to come.

4. The Batch on Sunday Interviews vicbriggs on working with #BenedictCumberbatch and life after Sex with you-know-who.

5. Midnight Snog – the sequel to Sex with you-know-who is finally out.

Warm regards from vicbriggs, with a twin-twist on the weekly challenge and prompt below:

http://katistjshin.wordpress.com/2013/09/29/new-story-and-weekly-challenge/

http://neverendingstorydepository.wordpress.com/2013/09/30/weekly-prompt-angst-and-longing/