Tom Orrow

Tales of Tom Orrow – Beauty.

Tales of Tom Orrow – Beauty.


He read her like a painting.

Fondled her like braille.

Told her like a fable and recalled her like a tale.

Spoke of her in beauty.

Her totality, her love.

Christened her in kisses and baptised her like a glove.

A chat amongst the punters.

Eye to eye that coffee-house.

Intensity a burning line desire without doubt.

She says she’s only human, but only she can put those fires out.

Tom Orrow called her daily.

He wrote, E-Mailed he paged.

He grew within the years where she never seemed to age.

© G.P Williamson 2017





How did she generate such heat?

Blue dress all plain, hair up, nothing sassy just tied to one side with black tights, she held me right. My gaze, dark haze, perfect eyes, unfazed.

Intrigued more than daunted, more unhinged than haunted. Slightly off balance like “How can I walk away?” Than questioning “Should I stay?” She had the type of quivering figure I’d given an arm for.

She’d have it all, everything I ever wrote would be hers with a bow on. Red like her lips. I’d lose myself and the show would go on. Committed for an hour in eternity & the only question I held was “would she return to me?”

© G.P Williamson 2017





Amazing Grace.

A voice of wonder.

Sound departing.

Crystal thunder.

Lip tight caresses.

Plausible deniability.

Deviant fetish.

Amazing Grace.

Shoelaces wish.

Sweet to taste.

Touch lips to kiss.

Amazing Grace.

Biting down.

One part pleasure.

One part frown.

Amazing Grace behind the book.

Watching her write,

was all it took.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Hair today gone tomorrow

Hair today gone tomorrow


She wore her hair down which would matter if I noticed, I hadn’t.

Her eyes drowned her other exquisite features.

Her perfect curves were unremarkable in comparison.

She was talking, her red lipstick was moving seductively against her teeth.

She’d bit her lip gently and I realised she was waiting for an answer.

Her teeth were snow white.

Her lips were rose red.

I uttered a noise as my voice failed in reply.

Her eyes left mine as she motioned a goodbye.


©G.P Williamson 2017


She moves


The snake might not bite but fails to understand,

the hardshops of a working man, her place has been preplanned.


She has all the charms.

Her movements scream attractive.

A smile behind her eyes makes muscles most reactive.


She needs no introduction.

You can sense her in a room.

The emptiness does not forsake the smell of sweet perfume.


Copyright G.P Williamson 2017