Lincoln and Davis: An Affair that Split the Union

by

Part 4

Jefferson entered the warm coat cupboard across the hall where Abe was already waiting. He locked eyes and was immediately lost. With a slight of touch, he caressed the smooth silky texture of his top hat. His hands ran down his face, fingers entangled in his mess of beard. Abe lifted his top hat and with a clatter it dropped to the floor. Cupping his hands around Jefferson’s face,  he slowly leaned in.

“Is there a rocket in your pocket or are you just glad I’m here?” Jefferson contemplated what on earth a rocket could be as he nibbled at Abe’s succulent nose. Abe forced him into the closed door and pressed up against him. Despite his body trembling with satisfaction he felt hesitant towards the potential of this encounter.

“I can’t, I…” Abe thought for a moment, “I just think this is happening so fast!” Jefferson was barely listening, he could feel the supple flesh under his pressed cotton shirt writhe with sweat and anticipation. At once, he tore at Abe’s lint-speckled black suit, revealing all eight of Abe’s nipples. The buttons bounced softly as they hit the floor. Jeff kissed his chest with the deep passion he had held back since the moment he had first laid eyes on the President.

The passion was interrupted as the door was pushed open heavily. The two lovers parted in shock and glanced up to see a silhouette of a short, bearded man.

“James!” Jeff jumped  up in shock, pulling up his breeches with a force that crippled his member, “this isn’t what it looks, I swear!”

But James Ewell Brown did not utter a word, and even though his face was a mask of hair and feathers Abe and Jeff could both sense the anger in his eyes. He jumped onto his horse and fired his pistols in the air with a southern screech. The meaning of this was clear; Jefferson would not be “visited” by him again.

Abe was almost fully dressed as he prepared to leave his Confederate hunk.

“Abe, baby I can explain!”

“Don’t bother, it’s over Jeff,” Abe sobbed, “I just can’t believe I fell for your lies!”

Abe motioned to leave, but Jeff stopped him, pulling him deep into his chest.

“I love you, you know that. He meant nothing to me, you’re my Babe-raham,” tears rolled down his cheeks and settled in his fluffed sideburns. A deep fear surged through him, the fear that Abe would leave him for good.

“You promise it won’t happen again?” 

“I swear it’s just going to be me and you from now on.”

Abe smiled and enthralled himself into Jeff’s arms, tugging the clothes from his dry, pasty skin and sniffing his feet with immense delight.

The couple spooned in that coat closet for what felt like a lifetime, but J.E.B was not to be their last obstacle. Little did they know their relationship would spark a war that would not only tear apart their hearts, but the United States itself. 

Tiny crocheted chair

by

 

Tiny crocheted chair

Such a solitary figure amidst

Those demonic playmates

Who tickle the air dry of all rationale

All sensible demeanor

It is futile, of course, to remain indifferent towards you

A single step could destroy your very reason for being

That which I do not comprehend myself

But in my own way, I find you beguiling

You could be the marvel of the ant king,

Yes!

A throne of such great stature that your porcelain friends

Would cower in dismay

For fear of fracture

The dining community

Ageing with a soulless pleasure, would be your minions, as it were

The core of your kingdom

I know you will not admit defeat, my friend

Fragile, yet relentless

You are an outsider who seeks comfort in the mundane

In the desert of the bizarre

A companion of the domestic, a motionless wanderer in

‘La cuisine des cauchemares’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Middle Earth Fetish (a couple of useful words for a Tuesday afternoon)

by

‘to swafflebliss’ : – When you wear some really liberating sandals fresh out the box with the specific purpose of stepping into a well chosen, muddy puddle on a country lane, and then retreating backwards, proud, as if nothing had happened

‘to snufflecleanse’ : – The act of cleaning your muddied feet in your house against a clean, white wall and rubbing the index finger of your non-writing hand into the muddy grain between your toes.
The people that watch are ‘blissgoggling’

Spaghetti

by

 

Ridged, yet fragile

I seek a way into the caverns

Your doorway, if you will

As a snake, a lost wanderer

That casts its beady eye on all things potent

All things of spherical demise

 

 

Blood shed isn’t enough for me –

I want to disguise myself amoung your crimson

Preceded by a sweltering gaze

That taints the air with a misty promise

Of urgency, of completion

 

To be remembered as whole,

As filling a vortex that snarls and roars with intrepid pleasure

You succumb to me

La mia promessa,

My victim, my master, my lover

 

The Jokes of the Triffids

by

1)

– How many Triffids does it take to change a light bulb?

– None, they use oil lamps.

2)

– Why did the Triffid cross the road?

– To sting your grandmother in the eyes and eat her.

3)

– How many Triffids can you fit in a post van?

– None, they send Telegrams.

4)

– Knock, knock!

– Who’s there?

– Triffid.

– Triffid who…? Oh god! My eyes!

5)

– Doctor, doctor! I think I’ve been stung by a Triffid!… Doctor?… Doct…Oh God! My eyes!