Reading DH Lawrence for the first time in years. Somehow he feels a stranger, and yet something in his brooding connects, but somehow the very gentleness of his manner holds the light and so his flesh is like wax and yet glowing and the stubborn stance is rooted and yet there is something about him that is pure energy, but the restlessness of his eyes seem far away and yet are focussed on the smallest detail close to him and her manner is repellant and yet there is a fire burning in his loins and cannot but utter, from somewhere deep in his the consciousness of his rough work trousers doth thy want a cuppa lass? Shalt I put tkettle ont? She is at once in turmoil of wondering as to biscuits.
Posted on: Thu, 09 Oct 2014 11:23:23 +0000
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