After work joining the heritage trail tour exploring the centre of the city in sub-zero temperatues, so that when I got to the Birdcage pub afterwards for the poetry spoken word night I needed a latte not a lager. Unavailable. Hot chocolate. Nope. But a cup of tea was offered. Ten minutes later I was served a delicate white teapot in the form of a swan. I wrapped my fingers around it for quarter of an hour to warm them up before pouring some to drink.
The poetry spoken words turned out to be hot, too. Men longing for kisses and more kisses and always like it was the first time. As if it could be?
