November? Movember?

Movember? NaNoWriMo? No.

A blog a day keeps the demons at bay.

It appears to me that November seems to be a month for getting things done. Is it because the evenings are getting shorter and we need more goals to get through a truly miserable month? It's not December, but it's not back-to-school September or half-term-halloween. A month sandwiched between two eventful months. 

First up; Movember. Such a pleasing idea to me. Thing is I am still too proud to show off my mustache in support of men's health. I would guys, but I need to keep hold of some kind of dignity while I can. 

Some other people use November to write a novel. So many words per day etc. Strange? I know. I just cannot entertain the idea of a plot at the moment, busy and all the other excuses you could possibly think of. I still need to flex that writing muscle before it gets weighed down in Havard referencing and objective writing. I am in no way procrastinating here. Well, I lie. I am a bit. 

 So 500 words a day. I wonder how many people that statement has already put off. To cut a long cliched story short I have decided to create a blog so it becomes #NaBloWriMo. National BLOG writing month. Here we are stuck in a dreary November and I really have nothing else better to do. 

I'VE SAID IT NOW I HAVE TO DO IT!

What is it going to be about? Well, it is already the 6th November and I've failed to come up with a unique selling point for my blog. Can't think of a witty name to join the dearth of beauty bloggers out there. So it's a LIFESTYLE blog. How ingenious? It covers most aspects. I can ramble on about books from my Manchester Shelf (yes, I've made it a proper noun because it is that good), make up, poetry, Lego or whatever takes my fancy. Lifestyle yah?

Today poetry takes my fancy. So here we are.

Those Intimate Times

There is no other mouth but yours,

Your mouth belongs to me.

I am there first thing in the morning.

Standing defiant

Awaiting your kiss,

whilst slightly obstructing your view to the mirror.

An intimate moment

when you pick me up,

I’m still tired from last night!

Your fingers,

so sleepy, so warm and so wet

grasp me tightly.

Run some water and freshen me up!

Slide a smooth paste all over my prickling bristles.

Next is my favourite part

When you open your mouth

And guide me in.

Letting me search your deepest crevices

exploring, sometimes finding new cracks.

I wrote this. It is my favourite type of poetry, well the only type of poetry. Poetry about inanimate objects; not periods and moons or wombs. When I wrote this I became obsessed with the word 'paste'. The way it whirls around the mouth before reliving the 'spitting sound' of the second syllable.

"Enough" she said "that is it until tomorrow!"