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Author Archives: A S H Smyth

To the BBC stringer who took my picture without asking (and then demurred over sending me a copy)

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Well, I guess we’re even now, huh?

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absentia

Friday, January 21, 2011

You told me to let go. So I did.

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Girlishness

Friday, January 21, 2011

I think what I like most about your 8″ black rubber cock is the pink satin bag you keep it in.

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Tender

Friday, January 21, 2011

Life with me will be bad for your sleep wallet liver relationship with your parents/friends chances of getting into heaven* (though not necessarily in that order). But I’d like to think it’s still worth a shot. * optional

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Blood

Friday, January 21, 2011

Funny thing about blood: it smells exactly like old copper money.

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The act of love (pace Roger McGough)

Friday, January 21, 2011

The act of love is to love what engineering is to physics – application, relevance, without which there’d not be much point.

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Love not(e)

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

A. I love you. B. Fuck you.

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Opening line

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

We were in a car-crash, you and I.

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To a girl I once dated who thought herself smarter than me (BA Oxon., BA Oxon., MA Cantab.) and who ‘put me on to’ Philip Roth

Monday, January 17, 2011

I am reading The Breast and thinking of you.

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L’elisir d’amore

Monday, January 17, 2011

To celebrate her going on the pill we uncorked a good bottle of wine.   Afterwards, I couldn’t get it up.

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