I am delighted for all of you to meet Thomas Robert Higginson,
Meet Thomas Robert Higginson
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Category Archives: Vashti
Online Dating and New Kiss Horizon
For this post, I use my former match dot com photo, and my former ok cupid photos.
They caused quite a stir. More than I was hoping for actually. More than I really wanted? No;
I wanted more; I wanted to see if it was true that I can attract attention. I really did. I really do. All the time.
“Only dating explained image from this URL: )
My photos from online dating, (by the way, I am 63 years old, have never dieted in my life, have never had any reconstructive surgery, no cosmetic work of any kind. I do not even wear make-up, no hair weave, extensions or wigs, WSIWYG –all the way. I have never lied about my appearance):
I self-identity as mixed race, because that is what I am, and I am not ashamed of this at all. To be honest, I would not mind if more races mixed; for that is true interaction as long as all participating parties agree to interact; all interacting parties leave something behind, and all interacting parties take something different away, do not interact if you are not willing to change, if you must cling to what you were previously, before interacting for interacting will change you if you let it.
a definition of “interaction” states: “: mutual or reciprocal action or influence” –all interacting parties change!
(so stated right here: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/interaction
–Sure changed me, and I am still changing. Among the many things Thomas Robert told me, all of them wonderful, by the way, he said: “If ever I change my mind, I will tell you” –an he has said nothing to that effect. So I believe when he say din August 2016, that he loves me–
(I do not feel right about online dating; maybe I will in time, but I cannot rush… I have to take my time. I do not want to make any mistakes; I do not want to feel any pressure, especially just to have a man not so far away as Thomas Robert Higginson is. I also want to be fair to all involved, especially to my own heart. I feel guilty just a bit. I do not want to feel this way, but I am also involved in the promotion of New Kiss Horizon, my most recent book to date, and I want to do justice ti that unbelievable love, and that will take time. I have a feeling that will still be pretty; Thomas Robert was the first man to call me that and mean it. Not just those catcalls I often heard. He spoke from his heart, and I am not at liberty to say right here all that Thomas Robert said to me –over many, many years –as the real man behind that name, to the real woman behind the character’s name. )
What I have come to believe via “Limited Fork Theory (and life experience, to be sure), is that much racial discrimination can and will cease when there is more acceptance of mixture. I do not go back five or six generations, no further than my own father, and his father, both pictured here:
Two of the few photos with my father, I was a teenage bride; I never met my paternal grandfather while he was alive:
Here is some info about these men and my experience with train whistles: (courtesy questions Bracken Hamlet asked me on Facebook):
“My father, those long low moans, my father coming back to me… sounds dissolving in the air, night calls, his bounce becoming a sky. He has a long way to travel, from death and its tucking of things inside itself, called burial, but only him curling his tongue into semblance of an ichneumon fly, and that sound is the curl, chalk writing on the night sky. My father once cooked for the railroad, making slaw, his own recipe under handle of the Big Dipper, making a prayer come true, that is what I hear, my father calling me, and I answer, another train, car of his train switching onto another track, and we speak to each other in those whistles, and train treadles of heart traffic…
Warm, loved, a track itself so the trains could enter the station of my heart and join all other memories of him, whippoorwills answering me, duets and trios with scent of dogwood racing along the tracks, the frogs too, a thick froggy carpet that squishy road between homes of my southern grandmothers, one black and the other something else, oh, those platforms where I would wait for the train. My father often whistled and could sound like a train, like President Kennedy too with a yodel stuck in his throat, that’s what he said, the sound of him cutting cabbage for his slaw with the rim of a tin can as shiny as the rails themselves; that my father was rail-thin was often said, he was traveling the best way he could, those special trains, Nickel Plate and Ollie’s; one even said Saskatchewan
You know, I will always miss my father. Always. I was never spanked because of him; he did not believe in hitting; if something can be loved, you don’t hit, you love it. That is how he raised me , so unlike my mother; how different they were. I don’t think she ever hard the trains. Maybe just a screech of metal on metal, trains encountering obstruction on the tracks, circles in her mind, constricting it. Oh I also recall the magic of being in Terminal Tower when the locomotives chugged into Higbees underground, and the magicians’ smoke filled the space, overlaid more drawings on the luscious artwork, murals (that never should have been destroyed, work sewer rats could do, but I would think that even they would gag on such colorful profundity and drop like tubes of oil paint, potential usefulness squeezed out, fat gray gloves decorating the scene); smoke gushing out of the front silver plate, folded with the fold pointing out like a collar cradled in silvery recollections; this is what irons wanted to be, but not even that Rowenta came close, the steam irons would slobber on the clothes when they weren’t working properly; they wanted to be flattened for usefulness on the railroads, my paternal grandfather built them, hammer and pickaxe, Native American, Caucasian and immigrant from India, dry-land stevedore, oh, oh, oh, these memories….those murals in Terminal Tower railroad station“:
— Some of this deserves, warrants repeating, and some of this will pear in slightly different form in a book I am at long last writing about my father, including a scene I will have to completely imagine since my father’s death in 1980; he got to see not one of my books while he was alive; he never got to see his only biological grandson; he never got to see me truly happy with a man, the way I was with Thomas Robert Higginson, and I wish my father could have seen that photo of me standing beside Thomas Robert on a bridge, happiest weekend off my life so far; (even my son who never met my father, commented that he had never seen me happy with a man before, and I know with all my heart that true.
–Must sidetrack for just a bit right here, because I was married for forty years, and did not know the pleasure I found with Thomas Robert — says a lot about Thomas Robert, I know, and it is not my intention to embarrass him; but when a man has achieved something as special as this, you just do not keep it to yourself,
(If you want to know more, and I hope you do, then by all means read, New Kiss Horizon!
end of sidetracking, but not the end, probably never will be, of feelings for Thomas Robert Higginson)
(find out more about New Kiss Horizon here :
NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:
Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373
Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496
Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC
Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:
https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ
Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book):
Vashti’s blog URL:
https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/)
Dear Thomas, I sure hope that you do not mind my posting in this blog a photo that said to me was pure “delight’ –that’s what I felt, also; I am standing right beside you where I belong, and you are standing right beside me where you belong, always:
Vashti Astapad Warren with Thomas Robert Higginson: love in full bloom
and I am writing a scene in which my father is holding his usual study, his brothers-in-law sitting at the dining room table , table my mother still has, by the way, his lectures on the composition and location of the human soul, a bottle of Old Mr. Boston nearby, pale in the glasses, like my skin when it sparkles (as it did when I was with Thomas, especially whenever he kissed me and I kissed him); Thomas Robert is a drinker too; they would have enjoyed each other very much, and my father would have been joyous indeed to see that I had loved someone like Thomas Robert Higginson.
image from :http://www.liquor.com/brands/mr-boston/
Back to the business of reverie, and repetition, for all of this is true, nothing truer has ever existed:
You know, I will always miss my father. Always. I was never spanked because of him; he did not believe in hitting; if something can be loved, you don’t h it, you love it. That is how he raised me , so unlike my mother; how different they were. I don’t think she ever hard the trains. Maybe just a screech of metal on metal, trains encountering obstruction on the tracks, circles in her mind, constricting it. Oh I also recall the magic of being in Terminal Tower when the locomotives chugged into Higbees underground, and the magicians’ smoke filled the space, overlaid more drawings on the luscious artwork, murals (that never should have been destroyed, work sewer rats could do, but I would think that even they would gag on such colorful profundity and drop like tubes of oil paint, potential usefulness squeezed out, fat gray gloves decorating the scene); smoke gushing out of the front silver plate, folded with the fold pointing out like a collar cradled in silvery recollections; this is what irons wanted to be, but not even that Rowenta came close, the steam irons would slobber on the clothes when they weren’t working properly; they wanted to be flattened for usefulness on the railroads, my paternal grandfather built them, hammer and pickaxe, Native American, Caucasian and immigrant from India, dry-land stevedore, oh, oh, oh, these memories….those murals in Terminal Tower railroad station
copyright © 2017 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved.
Significant New Kiss Horizon links!
Here are significant links to “New Kiss Horizon” web locations:
NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:
Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373
Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496
Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC
Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:
https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ
Link to Vashti’s Blog:
https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/
Buy and read this sensual little number please…
NEW KISS HORIZON!
HAPPY THOMAS HIGGINSON DAY!
I am quite pleased to announce availability of my new Romance novel!
Please feel free to review this book, AND TO SHARE THIS INFO WIDELY!
Available now (just in time for the holidays):
NKH ACQUISITION DETAILS:
NKH acquisition info:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373
other NKH details:
Title: New Kiss Horizon (NKH)
Author: Thylias Moss
Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.
price: 7.99 enjoy, An adult erotic book.
Coming soon to iBooks, Amazon, just about any e-book format you can think of.
Only a few of you knew that I was working on this, and here is is. On a Sunday evening. Thomas knew. He has always known. Title of the book comes from kissing THAT MAN!
ISBN: 9781370811991
COVER OF BOOK #13:
About the romance between:
Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robert Higgginson, literary lovers
short description of the romance novel:
“After 25 years, this man and woman meet again, 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 not become 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.”
Long description:
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 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. Thomas Higginson enjoying 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.
He invites Vashti to be in a movie, and he wants to begin making love to her right then, but he doesn’t, as both of them are married, but he wants to anyway; he finds Vashti to be the most beautiful woman in the world. He comes to the university where she teaches, and Vashti is in the audience, and Vashti loves how Thomas Higginson performs, but Vashti is married to a non-poet spouse, because beautiful Vashti was raped and became pregnant from that when she was fifteen. Then Vashti meets the man she marries three weeks after the abortion… He is not sensitive to what has happened to her; she is 16 when they meet, Wesley is 23, not a good match at all. Thomas is a much better man for Vashti; he always knew this, but takes a little longer for Thomas to charm Vashti twenty-five years later when his weight gain worries him that he will not be attractive to his fantasy woman.
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.
And ultimately this child more like Vashti than anyone else in the world causes the dissolution of a marriage that never should have happened, but Vashti’s mother was only too glad to get Vashti married off, and since Wesley was interested, Vashti’s mother agrees to the teenage Vashti marrying a man much too old for her. Now that Vashti is free, and Thomas Higginson’s wife has died, Thomas and Vashti become friends on Facebook, and as soon as Vashti changes her relationship status, he contacts Vashti, as he has during those years since the filming of his movie in 1988, as friends not as lovers. 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 not become 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.
Thank Goodness for Facebook!
Thomas Higginson and Vashti Astapad Warren may not have found each other without Facebook!
“Thomas Robert Higginson” is:
the same poet friend and collaborator who appears in Wannabe” (all those Higginson poems)
“Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ RedDress Code” –last book from Persea, jacket
the same poet friend who collaborated with me in the making of a chapbook of poems, also available from Amazon right now:
“Aneurysm of the Firmament”
Please feel free to share this info widely.
Thomas Higginson is first mentioned in “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code”, but this poet friend, of course, exists beyond that. I’ve known him over 30 years. I am 62 right now…
“NEW KISS HORIZON” is quite the explicit little book, but good to curl up with, in the cold of this approaching winter. You can download first 20 pages at Smashwords <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373> to see what you think, if the description is not enough. No sex in the first 20 pages, however.
Model for Thomas Higginson; I had to have one, and here he is… I have written so much about him; in fact the moment based on this photo is mentioned in the book; I encourage you to leave comments on this post. It gets rather lonely writing about a man like him, as I would prefer to be with a man like him, truly, with him, but I guess I could try a close substitute,
I have to say that there is no other man like him, and if you’re lucky enough to have the chance to go out with this man you must… Do not deny yoursef the pleasure that he can provide. I had to be 60 years old to find out for myself. After being married for 40 years. I am so very glad I now know what it’s like to be kissed… Really, truly thoroughly kissed. Well, here’s the model, me right beside him; I could not have invented Thomas Higginson entirely. My friend really helped me understand the man I need, the man I want after being married 40 years.
I have to say it, there is no better lover than Thomas Higginson.
KEEP KISSING! –no matter what.
I think that we look great tgether, but of course, I would.
Chicago Dream Date 23 October – 26 October 2014
Truth of DELIGHT at last
A Very long Post about Love:
Despite those who have advised me to drop or forget Mr. Delightful.
It is not as simple as you may perceived, because I really do love this man, whether or not it seems to make logical sense, even if you want to call me a fool, I still love him, and I do not love him today and stop loving him tomorrow. Maybe I will meet someone else, but until I do, this Hopeless Romantic really loves THAT MAN.
This love is deep and real, and he must decide what to do with it; I gave it to him, and all of it is his. If I am a fool, I am not the first. Maybe I will stop loving him, but it will have to its natural time; if he is indeed scum, then maybe I just happen to like scum. But he is better than scum. How do you know that he isn’t filled with regret?
How do I know that for sure either?
Maybe this makes me the most foolish woman in the world, but until I do not love him, I am not giving up on love.
Lord knows, I am not sure at all what this means. Nor am I asking you. Whether I am called “Dream Baby” or “Eucalyptus Octopus” or “Trauma to Quotidian” –all of these names came from Mr. Deightful’s poem to me, the poem I still believe is about me.
I like these names. I like that they came from poetry. I like when I started calling him my “Muse” and he corrected that to “Mr. Muse”
At first I was concerned that so much poetry in my new book, “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” was either written about or with “Thomas Higginson”, but now I am at peace with that, because I still love the man, and as long as that is true, I’m not turning my back on loving him.
I am not sure how he feels about that but it is my love to give him, and since I have given it, I am not taking it back.
Cover of “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery Of Realities’ Red Dress Code
You were not with him; but I know a tender side of Mr. Delightful and maybe he did tell some lies. Maybe he did allow me to believe one thing when he had made other –temporary– (one can never be sure with him). I know what makes him delightful.
No; he is not perfect, but then again, neither am I.
A entire chapbook of poetry that Thylias Moss wrote with Thomas Higginson is available right now at Amazon as a book for Kindle, and you may also be able to get this chapbook as a softcover book (I will check again this week), but if you would like a collection of collaborations between Thomas Higginson and Myself, “Aneurysm of the Firmament” (spelled correctly in the chapbook, ad actually not on the table of contents in “Wannabe“), then please acquire this chapbook containing only poems of our collaboration which has been long lived.
(buy the chapbook and Wannabe at Amazon here)
You just do not throw such things away. I hope the chpbook lives on after I do.
I kissed Mr. Delightful, well, he kissed me first, and then I really kissed him as I have never kissed a man before. That kiss told me everything worth knowing, and the kiss was real, so until and unless I find someone else… He is not easily replaceable. He is not toothpaste or only the flavor of the day, but he is mighty tasty –you wll need to read the romance novel for more details of my inspiration.
You weren’t there. You do not know.
It is not as if one day I decided, “hm, I think that maybe I’ll fall in love with him” –happened naturally, and if I fall out of love with him, that will happen naturally too, and for the moment I haven’t.
Maybe this is a man I will always love. I’m not going into all the details now. And whether or not Mr. Delightful ever knows of this, I am stating for the record, that I simply have never lied to him, and I am not starting to lie right now. When I told Mr Delightful that I love him, that was /is the TRUTH, and I am also saying it now, because it is the truth, that I still love that man, and no advice can change my heart; if an when it changes, I will say so. I am not vindictive; I just love that man as I have never loved a man.
I gave my love t0 him, and it is up to him what to do with it. It is his. I do not withdraw it. That is how serious my heart is. It is his decision what to do with my love. If and when I stop loving him, I will tell him first. But it will not be today and not likely that it will be tomorrow; sorry if I disappoint any of you. Sorry if this only seems to prove that I am fool; I would rather be a fool for love than for anything else.
I have a precious connection with this man, and maybe there are not many women who would love him as completely as I do, just as he is, flawed and everything, but this one does.
I told him once that when he becomes 70, not that long, 2018, he may find a need to settle down his very active life, and guess who will be waiting for him? His “Dream Baby“, his “Eucalyptus Octopus” [which he corrected to “An” Eucalyptus Octopus” as written in the poem], his “Trauma to Quotidian” will be there as long as I still love him. Love is like that, and can be stable, and not trusting him does not mean that I don’t love him.
Among many things, no way that you can ever know all of them, he wrote this to me:
“It’s a gut kick to me and I know I hurt you which ricochets back and painful. I couldn’t take it further, Thylias. I am sorry that the realities of life —my family, my job, my grief — consume me in a way that broke the spine of dream. Were we younger, were I more open, if only I could have put my responsibilities aside and blahblahblah.
I’m a bad guy if you want that, Forker, but when I think about our damn dream time together, relive the drama interplay spontaneity of the performance we did, all we shared and held, for me—
It’s a friendship that I treasure deep. Always will.
I would ask you to consider this an offer to continue our friendship. To support each other in a new way.
In any case, know that I an here for you, always will be, in a way for us still to find.
Love,
Mr. D
and he wrote this to me:
“Dear T,
What a moving and lovely letter, what a heart you got, a wondrous one, one that I 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 you 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 the works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etc etc —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
D”
You are not aware at all (well, maybe you are also so lucky); but you are probably not aware at all of what it can mean to kiss this man, but one real kiss from him, not the sweet peck in the airport, but that extended foreplay kissing in the back seat of the taxi all the way from O’Hare to the hotel, completely erased 40 years of marriage, 44 years with my ex-spouse; it was as if no other man had ever kissed me –please try to understand the power and promise of that kiss.. and helped me understand desire and expression of love as I have never understood it before. Forever transformed me in the most “delightful” way.
That kiss will forever be fresh in my mind. I even have a bottle of his cologne that I spray n my sheets to get into a bed of him, recalling instantly what it’s like being in his arms. I play the music we exchanged with each other; you can’t hear it, but it’s playing right now in the background. I listen to a playlist of it when I, this woman with MS go walking my 5-8 miles, and also on the playlist, because I love the sound of his voice, is a recording of the support he sent me so that I could listen to it, as I was writing about the two of us –I would listen t ohs voice all day, inspiring me to produce my best writing, in my opinion, ever, and in response to some of that writing, also in the chapbook, by the way, but not in “Wannabe” from which the poem, “If You See Something, Say Something” by Thomas Higginson’ with my addition / extension was rejected for “Wannabe” but was a poem published by “The Fiddlehead of Canada,” by the way, but Mr. Delightful wrote this to me after I completed that poem, before the Fiddlehead publication:
“”Skippity,
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
TMnOYP”
I can’t say what is going to happen. It is not my job to predict the future, just live it as long as I can, the best that I can and if I live it loving him, so be it.
I really do love THAT MAN. And this is a fact. Sorry if I disappoint you, but I am not disappointing myself. I really do lovehim, and it was not a choice. My heart did this. I do not involve myself with multiple men. Good for you if you are able to do that. I can’t and I don’t want to. I once told him that I would rather not have a man, if it can’t be him, as long as I love him, and since I do love him, I guess it’s many manless nights, a lot of tears, a lot of loneliness, but a lot of love for him to try to keep me warm in the coming winter, when I will be living somewhere else — he wrote ” Of course that means ongoing, and how the works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etc etc —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.”
Mr. D, as delightful as he really can be, also wrote this to me, when I really needed it:
“Thylias, I feel from your letter that you need an immediate response to help ease you into that house, into yr mother’s dementia, into Mr Moss’s inflexibility.
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.
My own personal life is not part of that equation. That is for me to live. This is a privacy issue and not important to that house you are going into. Please accept this as the eternal strength and support, or as long as you need or want it.
Godspeed.
D”
(By the way, I need it forever I want it forever)
And after a discussion on, “letting me define the love for me”,
Mr. D sent me this on 3 August 2016, not that long ago at all, :
““Thylias, It is Love & that is all, it is kin and Life itself.
Sending you strength
D “
to which 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.
Thylias”
(we even have a poem about this “Wild Ride” of ours,
and here is some of it, (should have been in the chapbook also, my mistake, well, for the next chapter f the next book, because there will be one, of that I’m sure; Love demands this, and even if for mow it seems that it is only me loving you, so be it… As long as I love you, it must be this way):
Higginson The Thrill Ride
Every emotion possible to feel,
I have felt with you –highest highs
of my life
(also the lowest lows)
I once thought the Blue Streak at Cedar Point
was a tremendous roller coaster,
but you surpass that by far! –as
“Higginson-Higgs-Mr. Muse-Mr. D”
any of your personae—
I have been everywhere with you
yet nowhere
(and I wouldn’t trade this ride for anything).
You Are
The Wild Ride
(Higginson)
Loving it
“Higginson The Thrill Ride”
Every emotion
sighest mighty riotous highs
belowest lows)
the Blue Streak at Cedar Point
roller coaster blasts past
my past into your past passed
but you surpass t
“HigginsonHiggsMrmuse-Mr.D”
everywhere with you
butt nowhere
(and I wouldn’t trade this wild ride for anything).
Remember when I wrote a poem, and you couldn’t respond w=exactly as you would have liked, you wrote this to me:
“Thylias, wow, si o non
sionon
Great word
I am honored beyond beyond
But my plate is so big of full right now I can only make a new word and push on-words
Sionon it is on my part
You have my permission to use everything but I must beg your forgivenness in being unable to come out with the resounding affirmative the Soul cries for because I just do not have the time to do that. My film work, Ford Fdn work, poetry work, the Club, plain ol work, on and on —
I just want to ask for yr understanding on this.
OK, BFF?”
and this led to a poem in “Wannabe”
“Sionon Epoch” also in the chapbook
The primary point Mr. D, always so damn delightful to me, is that my Soul still cries out for you, and I may be a fool, but I am your fool; it is entirely up to you what you do with your fool,
and for a time you were foolish with me,
and I just want to remind you, that very few men, maybe no other man, is or has been or will be loved the way that I love you, and though I will not use you name, you know who you are, just as in that recording of the poem you wrote for me, and I can prove it if necessary, after I rejected a poem you gave me when I found you reading it online and complained that it wasn’t written specifically for me, and then you wrote a poem that I knew was specifically for me, with the references to particle physics; you know me Mr D, better than anyone, and when I hear d you reading it you saud, “It;s for somebody who knows who she is” amd she dies, she is me, your “Dream Baby“, your “Eucalyptus Octopus“, your “Trauma to Quotidian” your Thylias, apparently always yours, for the long haul
me in the “Dream Baby” dress :
and speaking of long hauls, surely you remember when you said you would “drive an 18-wheeler full of condoms down my street”? –really might need that many for the next time I get to be alone with you.
It’s not just sex, but loving him, melting every time his breath was on any part of me, his hands, the weight of his palms, his exquisite tongue, his lips, sex became sublime.
I will see, won’t I? –he said it, he wrote it, and the “written word” is just as sacred to him as it is to me –no there’s no “ring” on it, but there is something that maybe even better, the rings of love around my Saturned heart.
I just don’t know what yet. But maybe something, and just as I am worth waiting for, with all this love I have for him, he is worth waiting for also. And so I do, committed to the love itself for as long as I feel it.
I am getting so much closer to what I really need, for a future as uncertain as futures must be if they are unwritten, and they are.
I do not live a pre-determined life; I know what I want, and I am determined to have it, whatever that means.
I am 62, no longer middle aged, and since it isn’t likely that I will live to be 124, it is necessary that I act on whatever I can, and living in my own place, on my social security, and yes, loving a man, taking a chance on what I feel, because what I feel is real,
and I know I might sound crazy, and I know you know, or think you know who I love, but my feelings are real, and I have already given them to him, so they are his, and he knows this, and what he decides to do with his gift is up to him.
I do not give something to him and then withdraw it. That is not who or what I am, a so-called or proverbial “indian-giver” (and me personally, as a member of this heritage, have not known such phony-givers, and knowing myself, I am not about to be one now).
This is my only life, and I want to live it truly and honestly. I am the one who must face myself in the mirror, and I want to like what I see. (I know you like what you see in those photos of me, Mr. D; you already told me that, many times). That’s all this is: my chance to live the life I need; the life I want, preferably with Mr. Delightful, and that “terrific life” he told me I would have, and not just because he told me; I will have it regardless, but so much better with him than without him, which is what he meant, as I interpreted it anyway.
“Terrific life” with or without him, but much better with him… He also said to me: “Relax. It takes time”
And that is exactly what I have for you: Time.
Just as you waited 25 years just to kiss me, I know that you also understand time, but, please, not another 25years. Neither you (aren’t you already 68?) nor I at 62 have another 25 years.
But I will keep waiting. And while I wait, I will work on rebuilding trust. I know you didn’t want to have to tell me what you told me, but even that did not destroy the love I feel for you. Dampened it, because you evidently could not wait for me as I waited for you, and still wait; Dampened, but did not, could not Destroy.
I can’t promise you that I will still be beautiful when I am 70
and you will be 76 (!)
–I can’t believe that I am saying and thinking such things about a man as old as that, but you yourself told me that love doesn’t care about age when you carried me on your back in downtown Chicago, and it was obvious to anyone who saw this woman in the short form-fitting skirt, even shorter for being elevated on your back, and where your hands were (under the skirt) as you carried me, and where my hands were on you and you know that the form is also real, and unaltered (like your banana, if I may say so:
“Hey! Watch out for that banana!”
The Mnemonic of Yr Palindrome
TMnOYP”)
–unaltered
like my love for you;
it was obvious what this aging couple had done, just as it was obvious to that taxi-driver seeing that aging couple making out in the back seat of his cab what we were going to do as soon as we were alone in that hotel he drove us to; everyone knew, what we had done and were going to do again and again…
The way the registration clerk chuckled. Such a terrific moment.
All of them. All of them Mr D.
I have to be willing to accept the bad moments with the good, –love demands this–true love does, that is, but when I list them, the good is ten times longer than the bad.
Face it Mr. D, I love you plain and simple.
no matter who or what you love. or think you love.
My love for you is certain
–and if or when it isn’t, I will tell you.
I cannot offer you more than that.
And I would not want to offer you less.
whoever you are, sweet mystery man, my sweet mystery man, standing bside me on a bridge in Chicago, bridge to a terrific life:
This “terrific” photo has its own life, as does this “terrific couple”
They have met in the center of the bridge… Desn’t matter how they got here, but here they are. And here they belong together. Everyine can see this, as you sad yourself: “That time was Delight” –you said that becase it was,it is.
The photo never dies, and nor does the love, Mr. D.
I love you, just as I loved you yesterday, just as Iwill love you tomorrow. Whenever you’re ready, you know where I am.
“Higginson”: The Thrill Ride”
(another poem for Mr Delightful [it should have been in the chapbook, and I will add it to the chapbook]. Hard to say who wrote which line; lines meant to be together just like Mr. Delightul and I.
copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved.
Higginson The Thrill Ride
Every emotion possible to feel,
I have felt with you –highest highs
of my life
(also the lowest lows)
I once thought the Blue Streak at Cedar Point
was a tremendous roller coaster,
but you surpass that by far! –as
“Higginson-Higgs-Mr. Muse-Delighful”
any of your personae—
I have been everywhere with you
yet nowhere
(and I wouldn’t trade this ride for anything).
You Are
The Wild Ride
(Higginson)
Loving it
“Higginson The Thrill Ride”
Every emotion
sighest mighty riotous highs
belowest lows)
the Blue Streak at Cedar Point
roller coaster blasts past
my past into your past passed
but you surpass t
“HigginsonHiggsMrmuse-Delightful”
everywhere with you
butt nowhere
(and I wouldn’t trade this wild ride for anything).
My favorite picture of Mr. D and myself; nothing would make me happier than being in his arms again, arms meant to hold me, look at them; look at us.
Romance Novel!!
Happy to report that an inproved version of my Romance novel ws completed this evening:
549 pages, 77,021 wrds!
Title will not be disclosed at this time; not until there is a contract.
Thank you for reading this!
Birth of Vashti
Meet Vashti (posing a character in my romance novel, in an attampt to know her better; a first attempt; there will be others).
Thylias Moss Writing 