NEW YEAR, A GHOST STORY, POEM AND CLASSICAL MUSIC FOR THE WEEKEND.

There she sat in the large cosy armchair, the log fire burning, she was warm and comfortable and asleep and yet was she asleep?  There was no light in the room except that provided by the log fire.  All was quiet, her book she had been reading had fallen onto the floor, yet in doing so it hadn’t woken her, so was she asleep?

As she sat there her head resting on the side of the chair she felt his fingers slowly stroking her cheek, as he always done, his long gentle fingers up and down her cheek gently stroking.  He had laid the bunch of roses on her lap, she did not open her eyes for she could smell their wondereous musky scent she knew they would be Red, his favourite colour and it meant so much giving the red roses.

How comfortable she felt, as she slowly moved her head downwards as he kissed her neck, and ear, she felt that usual warm glow running through her.  She longed for him she longed  to lay beside him, to be naked together to have him make love, touch her as only he could.

His warm hands holding her breasts so gently as he played with her nipples, his soft lips kissing them, his tongue circling them, oh God how she loved  every second.  Suddenly she sighed as she felt his hands undoing the buttons on her dressing gown his hand slipping under her nightie and to her softness she pressed his hand as he made his way his fingers finding the soft wet warm passage as he stroked her, she felt this great rush this excitement she turned her head side to side and sighed gently, slowly, as his mouth found hers.

They should have been in bed or on the floor it didn’t matter, right now he was thinking of her and only her, as his mouth left hers and his tongue slowly moved down her neck to her heavy breathing bosoms downwards, across her body all the time her breathing getting heavier, she wanted him in her, she reached for him but couldn’t feel him near only his hands and his mouth, so silly he was there ofcourse he was there, but just out of touch.

She wanted to open her eyes but something stopped her, his lips his lips on her eyelids kissing her, thats why she couldn’t open her eyes now she knew.  She felt at ease, as she held his hands on her bosoms as he lifted them to kiss them, to kiss her nipples as she breathed heavily that excitement that fluttering in her stomach and below that excitement that made her sigh louder and louder and LOUDER.  He pushed and pushed as she held him closer and closer wanting him  to stay in her as he pushed, she cried out.  Thank heavens she thought they were alone, except for her dog Rascal who was whimpering in her bed, why she thought.

As he pulled away from her she felt his mouth again on hers, his hands rearranging her nightie doing up the buttons on her dressing gown, she whispered “no don’t go not yet”.  His fingers stroking her cheek slowly gently as only he could do, she felt him whisper in her ear and kiss her ear and then her eyelids.

She woke, lifted her head turned in the chair the bunch of red roses fell to the floor on her open book.  Rascal barked and ran to her as he sat by her side he looked to the door, she looked too at the doorway.  There in the door way he stood just about to turn and leave, he raised his hand to her to wave and blow a kiss, he whispered “I Love  You” and was gone.

Gone she said quietly, gone for another year “another long year” she said out loud.  Why oh why must she wait a year for his return, another year she will be older she told herself, what will he think then, he will never age.

She felt warm and wet underneath as she took a tissue from her dressing gown pocket and wiped herself, “he was here he will come back” she said.  She walked over to Rascal and knelt on the floor beside him, she picked up the roses and smelt them, taking one rose out and holding it close to her bosom.

She looked at her book, and picked the petals off the rose and let them drop to her open book and there the pages read    “SOMEWHERE OR OTHER” BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI, the scent of the Red Roses seemed to fill the room, tears slowly fell down her cheeks as she looked at the burning fire and remembered, knew how much she loved him and missed him.

 

 

SOMEWHERE OR OTHER

Somewhere or other there must surely be

The face not seen, the voice not heard,

The heart that not yet – never yet – ah me!

Made answer to my word.

 

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;

Past land and  sea, clean out of sight;

Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star

That tracks her night by night

 

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;

With just a wall, a hedge, between;

With just the last leaves of the dying year

Fallen on a tur grown green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maria Callas     –     Puccini “Vissi d’arte”  (Tosca)

 

 

 

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