Something abstract. Blue ribbons rippling, they’re bleeding into the right margin. Sip another sip of Merlot. Golden Years, Bowie. Don’t let me hear life’s taking you nowhere - Angel………….There’s my baby lost her soul………………….Walk tall act fine. Golden Years. Run for the shadows in these Golden Years. I’ll stick with you baby for a thousand years……Nothing’s going to touch you in these golden years. Golden.

That’s Bowie for you - Classic.

Don’t let me hear life is takin’ you nowhere…………………………………

OK. Then there’s Bowie’s “Gasoline”. That’s another story.

Knots……bound. Bound. Together.

Everyone yearning to be together with someone, somehow.

Pain makes a man think things over. Well woman. Think things over. A lot of things.

Retrospective. Me years ago. That was me, years ago. Skinny. I’m now rounded in a sensual way. A child changes your sharp edges, makes you soft and lush. Hardens your heart inside. Soft and lushious outside. Hard inside. I’m not a soft center anymore. I’m a Fantale with the story written all over my outside. Something not swallowed, but taken piece by piece, chewed meticulously and mindfully. Not with reverence. Just alertness.

I’m waiting to be devoured. Like a luscious chocolate. Devoured.