The Bookshop is CLOSEDBookshop HoursMore Like This
Monday – Irregular
Tuesday – Inconsistent
Wednesday – Erratic
Thursday – Variable
Friday – Intermittent
Saturday – Changeable
Sunday – CLOSED
The gentleman who owns the shop next door-
now, I've been watching him for several years.
A quiet sort – he seldom says a word.
He keeps the strangest hours in his shop,
and I'm not sure he's ever sold a book.
He's got a friend who owns an old black car.
Bizarrely antique, if to tell the truth.
A shifty fellow – hides his eyes 'hind shades,
but stylishly dressed in well-cut suits.
This friend comes over frequently, it's true;
at any hour of the day or night.
The bookshop owner always lets him in,
and then they oftentimes will go back out.
Sometimes they will walk south toward St. James's Park,
and sometimes they turn west and head toward Mayfair.
At times they take the car to who knows where?
But mostly, they just stay inside the shop.
It's not my business
Watching Crowley SleepCrowley possesses my sofa.More Like This
He lies fully supine with his ankles elegantly crossed, and closes his eyes.
Constant machinations cease.
I understand his need to escape the unrelenting demands of his employment and his Superiors.
Eyebrows, often arched in sardonic humour, are now mirrored by a dense fringe of lashes.
I follow the graceful line of his cheekbone and study the curve of his ear.
Dark hair falls carelessly across a face that has seen everything in Heaven and Hell
and on Earth.
From the Beginning to the Almost-End…
Yet he chooses to be with me
here, in this moment.
Vulnerable, he trusts me.
The loosened knot of his tie lies just below the second button of his shirt.
I observe the small shadow in the delicate hollow of his throat.
My pulse catches as I match it to his.
He shifts and sighs, parting his lips.
One arm rests easily across his chest, rising gently with each softly sibilant breath, whilst the other hand
drifts down onto his lap.
I try not to focus on this.