With you, I want to be in a sepia musty room, lying on a green velvet couch, covered in a dusty woollen blanket. The two of us listening to music: the organ’s drones, piano cords percolating — tripping on this discourse. Staring into each other’s eyes, smiling, playing and absorbing the atmosphere. I want to smell the scent of freshly brewed coffee — the two of us nestling in each other’s arms. Outside the weather, be whatever it may be, all that matter is you and me. Slipping across the textures of our skins, our legs intertwined. We slide and glide against each other: this be the emollient to our dreams.
Heavy draped curtains falls, the rays of light sneak through the fissures. They illuminate a picture on the wall. The two of us viewing the excited dust particles dancing within the sunbeams- Let us dream, dream away this day.
On the ground, nestles vertical stacks of paintings, the textures of the paints: the peaks illuminated, the troughs in shadows: they define the picture. We see the light reflected off the golden baroque frames.
I see a blue glazed ceramic vase, with fulsome heads of red roses within. The polished, worn wooden floor gleams in patches, thoughts scattered on the floor.
The Turkish rug on the floor with faded colours and images, the fibres tattered and worn. It matters not for they combine to create this rarified atmosphere that induces the beautiful and scared. It transports us to other worlds, ones in which wonders upon wonders unfold, the stories, the patinated flakes of paints revealing depth, within depths: of colours — changes of hues, layers upon layers and so the narrative evolves.
Crushed nettle leaves in your palms, inhale the scent, and we feel the zest of life, the sting that sets our emotions alight. Outside the sunbathes on English red roses, green mazes and endless fields of green.