This image-text work uses cut-up method writing to produce an erotic text that accompanies images of water surfaces. Texts; phrases and sentences stolen from writers as diverse as Anais Nin, George Bataille, Judy Blume, Simone de Beauvoir, the bible and E.L. James of 50 Shades of Grey helped me forge my own language for desire.  I had been thinking about how to portray the erotic without relying on obvious symbolism. I created a prose piece from fragments of these disparate texts which I juxtaposed with my images of water, creating an overlay: images seen through words, words read through images, neither having the upper hand.

Taboos keenly felt, boundless wastage comes and goes. More sacred than man – carried away all night long on my bed, strives towards conception of fulfilment. Eaten my honeycomb, drunk my wine and my milk, my spice, my honey, my myrrh, its choice fruits dripping for me, against me. Mouth presses, eyes soften, lips turn – ruined. Electric current and breath control. 

Quaking, moves forward, move back against the backs of my knees, seizes me, pushes me, harsh, flush, raw, faint blows. Human weakness. Full rein to the desires of the flesh leads towards destruction. Bursting out of the chrysalis – forbidden. Transgression transcends taboo. Violence would not suffice – yield only bad. Tripping along, whistles for those loosened at the waist. Cogent thought. State of fire, beat of sex and heart for which a man’s language is so inadequate. All precautions taken in vain – you find out too late. I forced her to kneel and then run. Dear Dick, turn our lives into a text. His paradis terrestre, his disport – o flesh – reaching me in unsuspecting ways. She does not listen to me. He did not release her. Fingers locked, provoked by furtive contact. Tp scrutinise means to search; the blind search for life, laid open to anguish. The hiding must be seen. Suddenly she surrenders. Offers herself. Becomes a woman. The idea of being touched, the sense of an allusion. Breath hitches, steam rises, poems plagiarised unyielding as the grave. Place me as a seal. It burns like a blazing fire. Waters cannot quench, rivers cannot sweep, the impulse of the heart and mind. I am engulfed. I fall. I flow. I melt. Tormenting remembrance – the search for lost time. I remember pathetically, c’est moi.