I hide behind a pillar, so I can watch him before he sees me. I give myself one moment to savour, unobserved, to feel the rise in my chest, my blood quicken, the unspoiled joy of waiting for him to emerge from amongst the crowd. I bask for a instant in happiness, in possibility, before I see that look in his eyes. Or rather, I won’t see that look in his eyes.

I stretch out time, and in those minutes, I can love him unchallenged by his perspective, unafraid of critique.


And then he is there, cold and unyielding as marble, preceded by his reputation. He lets me kiss him. He allows me to adore him. Later he will relent and come to my bed, warmer but no less hard.

Are we creating art or artifice? Am I the master or the apprentice?



(Probably not about David)