Queen's Crescent

Leigh Johnson

 

23 July - 24 September 2016

Opening 23 July  7 - 9 pm

 

Press Release

 

Queen’s Crescent
Leigh Johnson

 

It’s the beginning and I like you.
It’s the tingles fluttering in my body, electrifying my nerves. Unknown amount, but I’m feeling
it.
You give me one I’m not shy of giving you two. More than one x and my heart pumps like speedy
Gonzales. Three of them I’m over the moon – dangling, smiling stupidly, from a perfect
crescent – anything more than three hopefully written in haste.
All these x’s piling up and I’m a nicer person – my aura like a magnetic field shooting
thunderbolts of glowing heart shaped emojis.
Early days, but possibility of a long road – minus all the right turns.
How can we stop now? I love you. I adore you.
I think about you from when the sun scars my walls yellow and leaves them turning black.
I care about you too. I want you to know that you are special to me, stupid word. I mean it.
I think about you when you aren’t thinking about me. This is how I’m showing you all my
affection, undulating mountains, earthquakes in the making.
I miss you not by my side – when winter comes let’s freeze together like icicles and fade away
dripping into spring.
I want you now. I care about your feelings too. I care about your feelings more than mine –
unless they’ll cast me aside and leave me riddled with holes.
I want to be your friend. I want to be your only friend. We are best friends.
I yearn for you in the shape of a cat stretching its back, restlessness masquerading as a
sleepy yawn.
It keeps all our back and forth sealed with smiles.
I think about you most of a minute. I think about you too much. I can’t stop thinking about
you. No x’s will show you how much I love you, but here is one over and over again to give
you a glimmer.
I want to see you - bones, blood, bare.
My weeping palms want to drench your hand’s lucky lines, a love pact.
I want to touch your wetness. I want to lick your wetness. I want your wetness to be for me.
I want you to lie naked for me like Manet’s Olympia. And then open your legs like Courbet’s
Origin of The World. And could you go all Japanese – octopus tentacles filling your every hole,
the Great Wave ready to swallow you from behind.
I want to love you. I love you so much. I love you too much. I love loving you. I want to make
love to you from the inside out.
I want to see the hair on your back begging to be braided, squirming to be grazed, pleading
for our embrace.
Can we eat spaghetti in bed? Lie like spoons pretending to watch TV?
I want to wake up next to you. I want you to kiss me in all the wrong places while the sun
slashes its morning rays.
I feel glowing inside writing this to you.
I still like you, but don’t read into anything. We are good friends.
I need to keep things nice between us.
I need a way to end this sentence. I need an ending. This is an easy way out.
I write what you don’t want to hear but end with love. I write what I want and seal it
with my love.
They will comfort you momentarily. If I don’t write them I imagine you upset. When I don’t use
them and then use them again I know you are happy again.
No matter what I write I am a nice person.
They are like a final stop, a period, a comma.
You need cushioning. I need to rely on them. Everyone uses them, they don’t mean anything to
me, but they might to you.
You use them so I use them, tit for tat. You’ll be angry with me if I don’t use them. You get
jealous if I send them to others so I keep using them.
I use them because I can. Everyone gets them, don’t feel special.
I want to love you, but I don’t. They mask what I want to say. They allow finality.
They could be an ending.
If I didn’t use them would you love me less? Do you still love me because of them?
If you count up all my x’s it may seem that I love you, but it is an unknown quantity, the
24th letter of the alphabet, a multiplier, a power of magnification, a crossing, a chromosome,
Jesus Christ, a way to delete, cross out, cancel, obliterate, a symbol of a kiss, electricity,
a variable, a sign of zipped lips, an unspecified person or thing, a vote, a mark to represent
your signature, a horizontal axis - an abscissa, an ecstasy, an incorrect answer.