Lairs, cells and memories

Comfortable as a rug or a blanket, lined in fur to lean against, or on, and snuggle; or
run your fingers through like a lover’s hair or a shaggy dog. A perfect spiral or circle
held in your hand- an arch, your hand underneath feeling skin. All kisses.

A space to dream in, to stare and see, not what is in front of you but pictures
imagined or remembered. Coloured spheres storing everything to snatch from the air
and view.

:A cottage near the beach, a walk through the hills or lakes- a swim in cool waters,
the first bite of a crisp apple, cries of joy.

:A warren, a set, a nest.

:Her room, his room, their bed. A car, a park-

slides,

swings,

roundabouts.

Cold and impenetrable, high above cliffs: a fortress, a castle foreboding, unfeeling,
unobtainable, visible, untouchable. There but not there, a mirage- a museum
of yourself locked in cases or fenced off behind doors. Locked doors, traps set.
Pictures on bubbles that will erase with the burst. Discomfort, entrapment, tears,
pain, fear. Alive but dead. Imagined. Ink or graphite on a page, pixels on a screen.
Lying still not daring to move because of War of the Worlds. Scared within a duvet,
gasping for breath. Laid bare: people laughing. Waiting forever. Never trying. Self-
imposed. Scratching.

Vital. Every one.
All and both.

Every inch,
Every cell, fibre.

“They got a skin and they put me in it”

“I need my memories. They are my documents.”

“They got a skin and they put me in it”

“I need my memories. They are my documents.”