It really pleases me that one of my books, “New Kiss Horizon” has received such a great review:
Link to a great review of “New Kiss Horizon”
Saturday, May 13, 2017
loving her in his dreams – New Kiss Horizon: A Romance by Thylias Moss
This book sizzles. […] And the language of poetry is beautiful, reminiscent of Song of Solomon.” – A. Customer, Amazon
Vashti, a sexually repressed 60-year-old female poet finally finds the courage to divorce a man she married as a teenager, a man jealous of her looks, of the very equipment that makes her so appealing and this freedom allows 66-year-old poet Thomas Robert Higginson to act upon the fantasy he’s had for thirty years of loving Vashti, actually holding her, making love to her, a fantasy he acts out by visiting a store of Vashti, his fantasy come to life, and of course, entering that store is really a sexual act, for he’s entering Vashti, even if just in his head that somehow Vashti seems to control for she has awareness of all of these Dream Baby Tienda events.
Novel begins with Vashti revealing her past to her friend Thomas Robert Higginson who continues to enjoy his fantasy at the Dream Baby Tienda; he’s been interested in Vashti and loving her in his dreams, in his fantasies for 25 years. Every aisle has forms of Vashti on the shelf. He feels a little guilty because he’s married, but Vashti is thoroughly irresistible to him. He tries not to give in to his fantasy’s demands, but he fails, realizing the attraction he feels is much too powerful to deny.
During the twenty-five years since they meet in person for Thomas’s movie, Vashti marries an infertile man, and almost doesn’t get to have a child of her own. Vashti’s spouse cannot accept his infertility, and refuses to accept a sperm donor, but Vashti insists on having a child.
Once Vashti finally divorces in 2013, this sexually repressed woman tries online dating and is extremely disappointed, so when Thomas contacts her to begin dating, Vashti is occupied with a man from an online service, and Thomas has to wait a little longer. But Vashti soon realizes what Thomas wants, and Vashti is fascinated, although this man has gained a lot of weight, at least thirty pounds. But after 25 years, this man and woman meet, and Thomas is delighted, but Vashti fears that she cannot compete with the fantasy version of herself, and they agree to meet in Chicago, once Thomas is convinced that she will become not involved with the man from online dating, and when they meet, there’s instant attraction, and Thomas makes good on everything he has promised Vashti. Vashti has the best intimacy, best kisses, best sex of her life.
What Amazon Customer says about Nw Kiss Horizon on Amazon:
“This review is from: New Kiss Horizon (Kindle Edition)” On Amazon.com:
This book sizzles. A must read for anyone who has ever been in love. The anticipation, longing, writing to the beloved then meeting face to face keeps the reader enthralled and wanting more. But Moss doesn’t leave you hanging, oh no, she carries the story to fulfillment and happiness that only two people who love can find in each other. And the language of poetry is beautiful, reminiscent of “Song of Solomon.” (by Toni Morrison)
My Facebook response to this review:
“This is incredible to me; a comparison of “New Kiss Horizon” a book I love for so many reasons with “Song of Solomon” by Toni Morrison, a book I also love.
To get to Oberlin College from Cleveland, I had to drive through Lorain, Ohio where Toni Morrison was born and I had the pleasure of meeting her at Oberlin, even adapted “Song of Solomon” into a play I titled “The Third Beer” (I have not a single copy of that play),
but to be told that my little book is reminiscent of “Song of Solomon”, a book I admire so much!
and that was was so crucial to a well, workshop I was asked to convene at the University of New Hampshire (in the early 1980s) when black females had no dates, rejected by the black males who were athletes and had their pick of multiple white women, so I shared the passage where Hagar dies for want of silky, wavy hair color of a penny, the right clothes and creamy skin; the black males all laughed and the black females cried, including a biracial young woman with a barely brown complexion, but she had short, kinky nappy hair and was rejected.
Not me however.
(I had the hair Milkman would have liked):
There was nothing I could do as the workshop made clear that these intelligent females, most of whom were majoring in hotel management as UNH was the hub for that major in New England,
and for my book to be compared with a book that has meant so much to me is the icing on every cake.
There are no words for how deeply I am gratified.”
And maybe Thomas Robert Higginson likes this also.
I hope so, considering how much Vashti has been falling in love with him,
and I like the real man on whom Thomas Robert Higginson is based; well, (I believe ) I love him.
Well, Love Song #1 says it all and then some.
Love Song #1 MeShell NDegéocello”:
How about twice to double the pleasure?
Love Song #1 MeShell NDegéocello”:
The featured image is of my paternal grandfather, Frizzell (never sure how to spell his name, one “z”,or two, one “l” or ‘two”?) a most interesting and confusing background, Caucasian, and Indian from India —
My joy at the moment is because a real man who meets my father in the book, informed me that he has received it and he calls it “a good one”; shouldn’t make me as happy as it does. Let’s just say as things fall apart as they do, he and I have something, and I do not always know exactly what it is, but if he says it’s a good one, then I can’t help but glow.
It is a good one but for more than he may think… if I didn’t already care about him, this would be reason to. Now I will just lean back in the joy of this accomplishment.
I am so glad that these men meet, and that they like each other. He has no way of knowing what this means to me.
I have been thinking about that arrow of time a little bit, and well, wondering if I can cause that arrow to move differently, and if I had that opportunity, what would I do?
Wondering how I would make that arrow move? These men would indeed meet, and I believe that my son would be joyous… Well the first (and only, I say sadly) time my son saw me with this man, he said, “It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you happy with a man.” I had been married for forty years when he said that, not the son of my ex-husband, but with a Bangladeshi sperm donor father of necessity.
Well I will not post his picture, st this time; perhaps that goes much too far, but at least I know he likes it, and knowing that is everything right now.
I will rest with this interlude of joy.
It is important that I say this.
It is important that we not remain prisoners of the past.
It is important that we acknowledge change.
It is important that we allow anything to become something else, and not hold it to whatever it was.
“Change” systems are the way; once something has changed, we must allow that thing to exist in a form of system is only a temporary stop; I do not want to think that is a final, instead, only an emerging form. What would we really be if we could not change? Think of how you may have been at birth; I would assume that you have changed in some way, and isn’t that the idea, to not remain as you were, and to not continue to be judged as that?
What is it that does not have a past not meant to threaten us like ghosts we are unable to escape?
Do you really think I would want to be what I was?
I happen to like evolving, even from my parents; only my mother remains alive, and she wants me to be “saved” from , I hope, hating myself as much as she hates herself.
If you really know me then you also know I am not my mother, though she would prefer that I was. Although she would prefer me to be someone I am not.
My mother insists on dying as she is, unable to change. There is withering I can do about that, as I do not intend to die her death. I will die my own, and unlike her, I have bio idea what will follow that event.
She is convinced,
however, that I am going to hell; I cannot change her belief system, nor do I think I should, but I can say this, that after interacting with my father for so many years, my mother did not change as she could have.
(half of his father seen below, and half of me)
my paternal grandfather
(Native American, Indian (from India), and Caucasian)
She is becoming increasingly evangelical, and has dementia that is taking the mother I once knew so far away from me.
And I accept this. Even though my own mother, 87 years old right now is unable to accept me.
And please understand that I am okay with this, I just want to live my life, and of course, I will make mistakes some fo the time, maybe even all of the time, but I will not imprison anyone in their past as my mother rimprisons herself.
I allow that all things may change, and in fact I want them to.
Go ahead and change. Go ahead and become. Go ahead and take the risk, or do you really feel that you have achieved an ultimate form of yourself?
I do not, and at 63, I continue to plod forward, ideally emerging as something better by the end of this life.
My thanks to any of you who have contributed in any way to evolution systems of Thylias Moss.
A few selfies of me, all grown up at 63:
The last time I saw her hair. She hates it, and hates herself. Completely missed the back power movement. All that prejudice in the south of her birth, Alabama and Tennesssee, called the little black one and fully believed every denigration, even denigrated herself, wanted her child, me to have the hair she always wanted, and I do, never relaxed. no chemical treatment, except she wanted my hair for herself.
THAT Length she craves.
Good Sunday morning!
For a change, I do not plan to write about the shambles of my love life; will not be fixed today anyway, and I can’t say when, but it will be and is.
Not much has changed; I am still in love with a wonderful sman; I like everything about him way too much, no one can be as good as he is, but he will have to deal with the man in the mirror.
but too much is beautful for me to disrupt or destroy that beauty. That it attained a pinnacle of loving expression will always be true. Nothing can ever change that.
I have embarked upon, for 2 writing projects quite dear to me, Amazon’s CreateSpace, a self-publishing tool that will allow books made with it to instantly be sold wherever Amazon has a footprint, and where doesn’t that corporate giant tread?
The first project is a group of collaborative poems written with a friend, (that much I’m sure of); a friend of mine, a lover also, the very best, you will have to take my word on that (or read the book I had to write after beign with him with him! Thoroughly Transforming!
Thomas Robert Higginson (a pseudonymn) , right beside me here, and may it always be this way.
That collection is finished; just waiting for the sample of the book to arrive, and if I like it, then into production; already has its ISBN number, so this book is real, and I am delighted by that.
Unfortunately, the sample isn’t due to arrive at my Ypsilanti house until the day before my mother’s 87th birthday. If I do not, as I would like, get to go there, I have already planned to call her and sing to her; she always likes that –mothers you know.
I am so eager to see that little chapbook, that contains two poems from “Wannabe“, with permission from the publisher (who I would prefer not to name), but… Yeah, and my so-called comprehensive book with a blurb from Harold Bloom in the most prominent position possible on the jacket, extolling my stature as a writer of significance, except that he is referring to a New & Selected not even in “Wannabe” –I am in Harold Bloom’s “Western Canon” for “Small Congregations” –the only collection of my previously published collections of poetry not included in “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” –well, mistakes happen, I know quite well.
But some mistakes make possible wonders that could not be possible any other way, and for that reason, I am glad for what looking back could be seen as mistakes but I am not looking at mistakes today; I am looking at only opportunities which is what CreateSpace is.
So while I wait for the collection of poems written with my friend Thomas Robert Higginson (I may need to do a drawing of him; I assure you I can, all just from memory–what a great idea; I have never attempted a simple pencil sketch of him… Wonder how the pencil will feel in my hands drawing the man I so want to be with? –a Thomas Robert Higginson comic book? graphic novel “graphic” as defined in multiple ways –I leap too far ahead; I haven’t even drawn the man, and the idea is forming even as I type this, but obviously the idea really appeals to me… But to have him form right on the paper in graphite from what will become my favorite pencil after I draw him? and even the two of us together, using illustrations from, I don’t know, the Kama Sutra, as a guide, not that I’ll need one. Too much heaven! –and I am a little bit skeptical about him possibly seeing this; after all, we are “just” friends, and I shouldn’t permit myself to think this way about a friend, should I?
Leap, leap, leap (into his arms –I can’t help it)
and wouldn’t you know, the Angel of the Lord returned to visit my mother who just called to warn me to make no decisions at this time; to tell me she was afraid, the spirit told her this, that now is not the time to try to sell a home because the republicans are about to seize power, although she detests Trump, yet doesn’t feel Hillary to be any better because she is a woman; she said for me to follow God, and pray for what I really want, and I did, but it’s not what she thinks it is. (I prayed to have him, of course).
My mother has no idea how involved I’ve become with a certain man, and when I tried to tell her about him, just his name; he had wanted her to be in a movie about poetry he produced long ago, but she wouldn’t, preferring that no one know she worked as a maid; she has no idea how often I have included that info in my writing, and more recently her puritanical views about sex. She would be shocked to ever know what I’ve done, and enjoyed with That Most Delightful Man. She told me then that the only man I need is “Jesus”, so when I first wrote about being with him in Chicago, I called him:
“Jésus” and that way, if she ever saw it, I was in fact talking about
(read most of that story here: “Mongongo Drupe“<https://muse.jhu.edu/article/576194/pdf>
in fact, before I ever went to see him for that unforgettable weekend in Chicago, it was well before these recent events, so I guess that was for the best, as I would be unable to explain what has happened to her, and it is most definitely my life, not hers.
“Mongongo” the name of the only oil I put on my hair, and it seems to be working.
Oh I well remember my son driving me to her house in Cleveland in the pouring rain, rather as it is right now in Ypsilanti, and exchanging texts with that Most Delightful man; how wonderful that was; you don’t realize how wonderful every moment has been…. That Callaloo story only gnaws at a most wonderful surface, and even that hardly accesses what is so amazing and terrific about being with you/him…
Here’s part of that email exchange:
By the way, my ex is not being supportive at all of my trip to see you — though I really want to attend, that Teresa Nyong Vogel reunion is a veil, removable veil to see you. He remarked to me that I must really want to see you considering all that I’m doing –inviting you and everything, sharing a hotel room –dressing for you, trying to guess what you’d like to see me wear, but imagining even more how you’ll remove it, and look at me, then touch me –my son isn’t helping with the R&B music he’s playing
–Jaheim– and that music plus what I’m already thinking is dangerous… Now Luther Vandross –“Never Too Much” –“a thousand kisses from you is never too much, a million days in your arms is never too much”
Luther Vandross – “Never Too Much”
to which he replied:
“I worry about your safety and I chortle at yr wildness and I ripsnort with passion and I flagellate with absorption and I tentacleize with tendresse as I undress the emptiness”
I would never want to divest myself of the memories of That Delightful Man for that would be to try to purge my mind of the best memories my heart has ever known, as an adult.
He asked for the dress I wore in his movie he didn’t just ask for it, but described it completely! How impressive that is, and I am not going to throw this away… maybe he has revealed himself to be an ordinary man, but that is just fine, I like him, no I love him anyway.
This is not the first time a woman has loved a man who still thinks so fondly of her, and even still loves her in his way… But asking for the dress, really shows me the depth of the impression I made on him when I was in the movie about poetry for which he was one of the producers and asked me to be in it; make no mistake about that!
The parts in the movie in which I wore the blue striped dress:
I’m in the back holding Ansted, Dennis is in the front, my aunt Eva who never married, and is mother of midget Mike, and who passed for white (she had some amazing stories until her death); JoJo Holman is right behind her. The two girls are Bernard’s daughters. Bernard is a huge lover of jazz and Godzilla. My cousin Edward (who lives in Chicago, but whom I won’t see while I’m there with you —as I mentioned, he’s only been to the airport once, and wouldn’t be able to find his way home; he lives on the south side of Chicago) is sitting to the left of Bernard’s daughter who also has MS –her grandmother, Belvia Brasier Hill, as I mentioned, died from a combination of MS and Huntington’s. JoJo who lives in Tennessee is quite ill, and not expected to live much longer. Haven’t seen him since this photo was taken. We’re quite a small family with a terrible amount of distancing.
You asked, so let me tell you a little of how it was for me, flat-chested till I was in ninth grade –my mother and her sisters used to pray for me that I not remain so skinny and flat-chested. Then the miracle; overnight. I was about 14, nearly 15 –went from a girl who didn’t need a bra (but wanted to wear a training bra anyway) to a 32D, the second most rare size, I was told by the Playtex salesman visiting the downtown May Co. Department store where I would work a few years later.
You can imagine the unwanted attention I attracted.
I was just a shy little girl, shy little top heavy girl, more like the women on the maternal side of my family; and thin, raw-boned more like members of my paternal extended family. Those prayer sessions were rather intense. And my aunts were (most of them are now deceased) pleased with the outcome. Then, the most rare size a lingerie buyer told me: 32 DDDD. Now, a mere 30 DDD or 32 DD depending on manufacturer… I recall when I had the MRI on Friday being asked what kind of implants were in my body and I tried to say that I had no breast implants –the expectation now, and I seem unusual about that, natural, that is… So many operations for augmentation, and I once considered reduction. Used to keep my arms crossed for a while, and even wore minimizer bras; used to try to hide, but my ex really liked that about me, and actually I did too, and when I was nearly seventeen was glad to be pushed up.
“Weather is a factor, and those anticipated storms have arrived —love how the sky looks, it and the pond have merged. Love the tapping on the roof, like fingertips, becoming angry at times, and then gentle, now scarcely making contact at all, but in roof-ways, the roof remembers the rain as a splintered lover that talks in thunder, and every now and then, illuminates their way with marvelous flashes of lightning, knife blades, marvelous knife blades….”
To which That Man regaining his sweetness as I remember so much, replied:
Dear Bullet Dodger —
Looks like you is stable eyesed!!!
Great photos of ver sexy you.
and the family — who took the picture? What stories!!!!
These photos were taken at my mother’s house, the home my father bought in 1963. Badly in need of paint, something my mother will try to do herself.
We have such a long and complicated story; we have history, and that is just too much to ever give up. I can’t bear the thought of you not in my life… I want to get past this, and reinstate you as the wonderful, tender, caring man you always were, the man to whom I wrote this:
You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing
Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you
And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours,
You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you.”
What a moving and lovely letter, what a heart you got, a wondrous one, one that I know and got to know better, and better, and loved in the way we loved. A mind that evolved those feelings into literature, into a story for the ages.
And that art means so much to me — and this letter, just as much, meant just for me, explaining me back to me from your perspective, and through your lens. Our friendship has moved so many places the world cannot contain them all, and still goes on, growing every whichway.
So thank you infinitely for this gift of all possibility and the settling of the words’ world into a mutually respectful and fulfilling friendship. Of course that means ongoing, and how that works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etcetc — it’s all there, we just don’t know what yet, and that’s the beauty you have given us in this letter. The truth of it.
It means so much
It means everything
You also said this to me, Lord knows you always know what to say:
“making poems is making life”
and you said this to me:
“I have all yr books, I think, Mz Moss. I do love A Man (if she’s A Woman)”
and you wrote this to me, so much more than this,
Sitting by a calming fountain in Kiev, just after the bells of St Sofia rocked the plaza — real rocks of noise
I can say a few things: how crazy are you? am I? we?
Pretty crazy, I’d say!
BUT certainly it is a continuously reviving poem
A fantasy dream and reality scream
You are a Go For It All woman finally free
You constantly inspire, and I wish to too
Standing off to the side and cheering you on
Hey! Watch out for that banana!
The Mnemonic of Yr Palindrome
—- and when you woke this to me, Mr. Delightful,
Instead of smiling at you
Smiling at you”
to which I replied:
Isn’t smiling at me a form of work?
to which your reply was
And how everything started with this:
“Hey, this won’t be a business call!
I’d be calling to reestablish contact, Ms Moss, that is all.”
Surely you will recall that one stumbling block in the way of our love taking off; you called him “PSOG” (Previous Suitor Other Guy” although he had a name. When you first contacted me after waiting 25 years, you had to wait an additional two weeks, because of PSOG, and when I contacted you two weeks later, just two weeks later, to tell you that PSOG was completely gone from my life (what I want you to say now about a certain nameless GF, you know what I mean); well to convince you that PSOG was gone, I sent him and BCC’d you on the breakup email of break up emails, this one:
Break up email of break up emails:
This isn’t as difficult as it may seem,
but under the circumstances, I think it’s best to not be involved on even a minimal level. I appreciate — I really do— your continued concern, but I must try to achieve whatever I can on my own (or via members of family). I appreciate your fondness and will remember it. I agree that intimacy is not for us. Never was. I can’t say that it will be with my new old-friend, but as I once told you, worth pursuing. I like how for many years he’s cared for me —on any level. Sorry, but I can’t do a blog or even go for walks, even if that leaves me out of shape. I won’t forget my medicine, and I’ll find a way to get to that dreaded MRI on Sunday. I’ll get there somehow, of that have no doubt —even my ex has agreed to take me —I just don’t think it should be you.
You’re free to write responses to my writing —as any reader would be; I maintain a partnership in that sense with all of my readers (who are also forms of “collaborators”), most of whom never connect with me directly. And yes; you may send your responses to me, and I’ll answer them as timely as I can, but won’t be preoccupied with responding (it’s not as if I have nothing else to do). As long as such contact doesn’t suggest a sustained relationship with a possibility of growing into something else. I don’t want such growth, and such growth didn’t happen naturally.. Send me anything you like via email. Nothing wrong with that. I just won’t go anywhere with you. I can’t —would seem that I have no self-respect, and I do. I guess I can blame all of this on match dot com, a service I no longer use, and won’t use again… If I hadn’t used it, wouldn’t have to write this message. I’m quite disappointed with the service.
It’s fine with me that we don’t attempt to pursue any romance ever—some things are just present, and no need to force what obviously isn’t there to kindle. There is no fire to burn or extinguish. No fire at all. No attraction (other than my own —temporary— delusion).
I’ll also be able to get to he airport; my ex has agreed to take me if necessary. He’s also agreed to pick me up when I return to Detroit if necessary. He has accepted that there won’t be any romance between us ever again –and he’s accepted that; he and I will be talking tomorrow, and he’s taking me to lunch, and will pay for all of it! —his and mine; he won’t ask me or demand that I pay for half! (as you did). —Nor is there any romance between us, you and I, and I’m opposed to doing anything that might seem to open that door. I’m closing that door for good- -something I thought I already did. More than once. We can’t be involved in that way for many, many reasons. We’re so wrong for each other —in just about any way that I can imagine or construct a couple. There’s nothing right between us —and I can’t make it seem that way… I’m through pretending that we had something we didn’t. I did that for too long, and I’m not going to dredge up past incidents —want to leave everything buried, and bury anything that remains above ground —all must be subterranean —coffin nailed shut. Sprigs of garlic around, and a set of silver nails, wooden stakes
I’m trying to make this clear again: NO US! —NOT EVER! —even if things fail abysmally with my new old-friend, I won’t be seeking to resume anything like that between us. Just a casual friendship at best, right now (that includes Facebook). Whatever we almost or sort of had, is dead and buried, and I don’t rob graves to have some form of man in my life. I don’t feel desperate. Just divorced and available —for the right man, and that will never be you. He must ask have something to offer to me, intimacy of course, and you have none of that for me… Intellectual and emotional closeness; bonds of heart and mind —we’ll be able to connect on multiple levels —and we can’t, pure and simple.
Haven’t tried building my own Frankenstein’s monster, and I don’t want to form closeness with a monster anyway. No zombie for me either; I want a flesh and blood man who is confident of himself and seems to value me as something special —we’ll be special for each other —that can’t be you. I want the man ultimately in my life to value me as much as I value him —nothing forced; completely natural, and its not natural for you to be involved with a woman on this level, a woman like me, I mean. I’m well aware how that Teresa Nyong Vogel Prize was something you could use to a form of advantage, especially at Cottage Inn —but not to my advantage, only to yours…
We are no more! and I’m completely okay with that. I’m shedding no tears. Just moving forward, without you
—all I have holding me back is that MS-related optic neuritis (simulating blindness in my left eye) and my loss of directional skills (aneurysm related) —I can get lost so easily; remember all the trouble I had when we walked and I had trouble knowing which way to go? This is a problem I have. Perhaps it’s permanent. I hope that the man who becomes the man in my life won’t mind, that it won’t be an encumbrance for him; we’ll find ways to navigate around this glitch, I’ll call it —just who I’ve become physiologically —we all change with age, by the way, something that I know you know, and won’t mention again (would require a little grave-robbing, your impotence that you tried to blame on me, grave-robbing, so I guess I do leave on a vindictive note, but I am sure you know your own impotence that you tried to blame it on me). Causing my friend to allow me to see him nude from the waist down, asking only that I take no photos; i didn’t but kind of wish I had, as I had never seen anythingn so huge and entirely tempting that would very soon —if I could accommodate all of him–be inside me
It wasn’t just the porn vignette. Many things…. There is no path to romance for you to me. Not ever. And I don’t want a path from me to you. Not ever.
My mother commented last night that I have no need to tell anyone even that I have MS, since my disease is so invisible, and she’s particularly upset with you as it looks as if I was a prize that you couldn’t recognize for what it is. Obviously you weren’t ready to pursue a relationship with me or perhaps with any woman (you did tell me about your involvement —brief— you said, liaison with another man) —but that may be too accusatory to say. I’m not writing to solicit a response, just to finish closing a door, that I thought was closed anyway, and maybe would still be had I not mistakenly invited you as a possibility for getting me to and from the airport —Sorry for the invitation. I’m withdrawing it now, and will be sure not to invite you further to anything.
Just to make this as clear as possible:
No us. Not now. Not ever. No matter what happens.
and after this you were fine , and we could begin… one of my favorite parts was when PSOG tried to blame his impotence on me, and also said he refused to use condoms, and you told me that you would drive an 18-wheeler full of condoms down my street, and talking on FaceTime, you showed me and told me that if I could see you right then, and I could, everything, I would know that impotence around me was hardly your problem. And it certainly wasn’t. Not then, and definitely not in person. I must confess, that I really liked seeing this. Really gave me something tangible to dream about.
But in the hotel I was offered an upgrade on the room, a single king bed instead of the 2 queen beds reserved, and you answered, so, so eagerly, your arm tightly and tightening even more around me; you were determined never to let me go, now that I was yours. “we’ll take the single king” and we did, Room 304 –I will never forget that.
Oh well: Delight after Delight Mr. Delightful
Don’t you remember this?
Soon after that, you sent me this:
I can’t wait
To taste your kiss
Kiss kissing kisses
Slow you lead your
Beautiful tender lips
Just to rest there
So quiveringly touching
The moment itself
Don’t you want to remember this?
Aren’t you glad that I do? Aren’t you?
Oh Mr. D, I hope you also remember writing this to me:
Don’t be nervous, except a little, in a good way! and don’t worry about Sat — you can play by ear, and you should enjoy the Geniuses as much as you can. We’ll have plenty of time — and will probably be wanting a bit of rest… !!!
3,766. I am looking forward to reading your letter and viewing the attachments
The absolutely delightful man who also said this: ” You have always inspired me, Forkergurl”
–and of course, Mr. Delightful has always inspired me…
You know that I accept this. I like hearing that it is Love.
I’m just afraid that it might not be love tomorrow.
I love knowing that it is Love, I need that more than anything…
As long as it will continue to be love, I am fine.
No one can say how long it will continue to be love on this Wildest of Rides, but I am glad to take this ride with you.
Even more recently, in September, last month, he said, “Relax –it takes time”
after I sent him a text in which I told him how I really want to see him, and how I really hope he likes my selfies.
“Relax – it takes time” he said
and “why so choosy picky? They are all great as usual”
to which I said, “All great as usual? Nice of you to say that before you’ve been see them, I guess you do notice me and I am glad. Very glad actually.”
I have always worried that he likes how I look; I have always wanted to appeal to him physically. You see for he 44 years I was with my ex, beginning when I was 16, he never, not once, called me pretty or beautiful of anything like that. He said my head would swell, and over the years, I thought of myself as unattractive, not to mention when a grade school teacher said when I returned to visit her when I was in ninth grade, “Thylias! –you’re beautiful! you were such an ugly child!” I was. I know that.
I’ve seen this man in Chicago, Minneapolis and Detroit., and he made it a point to always call me beautiful or pretty; he had no idea how badly I needed to hear this until I told him what I never heard. And then he said it all the time, and I learned to think myself pretty, and now I have a problem with vanity… Anyway, one day Mr. Delightful sent me a text,
“Thylias, you are one gorgeous woman”
I have loved having dinner with him so much. I had my first real dates with this man.
I learned how to kiss with this man, and he can really kiss. I was touched in ways I’d never been touched before, with his fingers, tongue and, well, not an x-rated blog. but you get the idea.
In Minneapolis, when we were about to go to dinner, he said he’d come to my hotel room at 5:30 pm, and asked “U r ready for dinner?”
to which I replied, “Sure. Don’t look my best, however.”
to which he replied, “LOL”
and I had another wonderful meal with him. Sommetimes, I forget all about context. My sense of time gets out of whack. And then I accuse him of things he did not do. This doesn’t mean that he handled this current “situation” properly, because he didn’t. But when everything is added up, the list of pluses is substantially longer, and besides, what human being does not deserve forgiveness? He needs forgiveness; we all do, and this way, I get to have some peace, and continue the best friendship I have ever had in my life.
There has been enough hurt, and if he is able to love anyone, that is a good thing.
May we all be so lucky as to find someone to love.
who we have become since our meeting a couple years ago, that weekend, plus our reading together in Detroit, being the extent of our time together.
I was so excited, as it seemed then that he really was every bit the man I thought he was, and I replied,
“You know that I accept this. I like hearing that it is Love. I’m just afraid that it might not be love tomorrow.
I love knowing that it is Love, I need that more than anything…
As long as it will continue to be Love, I am fine.
No one can say how long it will continue to be Love on this Wildest of Rides, but I am glad to take this ride with you.
But now, I feel so minimized, so inconsequential by that, even if that’s not how you meant it, but that’s how those words, your words, affect this little literalist, and that tenderness you showed me in Minneapolis… Tenderness that seems to mean more to me than it does to you. Yet, it obviously means something to you for that is how you behave… Maybe you always behave like that, and if so, no wonder women seem to love you; you are great to be around… You have a welcoming personality, a caring demeanor.
But you are also a Devilish Liar
I had reason to fear that it might not be “Love” tomorrow, because it isn’t. Barely lasted long enough for belief.
but it does.
Thanks for the most sobering conversation, Mr. Diurnally Delightful Former Lover. No more love letters from me, but I do hope that you liked them.
the New and Selected book of mine for which I hold all the rights:
Somehow it seems the fork of love will give you strength. That is strength I want you to have. Because this fork moves poetry and heaven and earth and hell and all history and muse push and language rush and Amstead and so so so much else, the All of It, I want to simplify my response to: I give you a life of strength and support in our friendship, and let you define the love for you.
“We have shared too much that has been sweet, sacred, and beautiful for soothing gestures that gloss over the underlying issue: my caring about you is so much that rather than hurt me, seems you resort to silence. Only seems.
although he is hardly the only man in the world, although I did everything to make him feel that he was, even just by having my willing company. I even got a Brazilian wax for him; I wanted hm to be so pleased with me, and he was. He just needed to wait a little longer, and he couldn’t, or at least, he didn’t, for whatever reason, but I am worth waiting for, and I told him that, being faithful to him because I was his, wearing the “For Sale ” t-Shirt, because shortly before the flight to Chicago and having the best weekend of my life (no lie), my ex told me that the man (whom he knew superficially of course) had bought me and threw two fifty dollar bills in my face.
“Well, I have decided to remain friends with that man; he said that we are friends forever. We have agreed to that. He agrees that we have shared too much for over thirty years to call it quits completely.
and little fool I am, and caring for this man as much as I do; he knows everything about me, including the name of every man I’ve ever been with intimately; that is how much I trust(ed) him. Although I am 62, he is only man #8
but a friend like him is rare and I hope I always have his friendship, bottom line. So as friends we move forward,
but just the thought of never kissing him again leaves me so bereft, something I do not yet want to try to imagine. GIRLFRIEND or not!
Hope it’s okay to say that I hope their relationship doesn’t last?
Bring on the voodoo dolls!
I’ve known him too long… He waited 25 years before he got a chance to kiss me, and that is something that will always be true. Always.
Whoever he is, and wherever he is, he is a most special man, and I have been 100% faithful to him, preferring flesh and blood to the dildo he gave me and named after himself; prefer (and how) HIS flesh & blood.
Some advice I was given on Facebook:
“It’s OK to forgive, but don’t play yourself. He should have been honest enough to respect both you and her.”
“Sounds so poetic, I hope that you heal peacefully from this. With love.”
“I’m no expert Miss, but I think you better separate yourself from communicating, and give yourself some space and time away from Mr Mistake. You have time to be friends after you heal. If he really cares about you he’ll stay away, if he doesn’t that will tell you he doesn’t.”
that’s it for now, the
32. DASTARDLY DARLING
33. DAMN U (Prince)
Damn U lyrics:
Seems 2 happen 2 me each and every time we make love
I can’t hold back
It’s like having a hundred million little heart attacks
Damn u, baby u’re so fine
Damn this kooky love affair
All I ever want 2 do is play in your hair
2 people crazy in love
Into 1 another like a hand in a glove
Damn this kooky love affair
Come 2 think about cha baby
U’re my only need
I’m on fire ’til u come and put me out
All I’m trying 2 say is that my psychadelic shouts
When u damn me
When I’m in your arms it’s all that I can do
When we’re makin’ love, I can’t hold back
It’s like having a hundred million little heart attacks
Damn u, baby u’re so fine
Here is the URL for video poems/poams related to my just published book, Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” (by Thylias Moss). You will note that the book title derives from the video poem, this video is the source of so much.