Blogger does not censor, does it?

I want, I want:
To be able to hit send. But no matter, we will type anyway.
I want, I want (second time lucky?) to tell you what I want:
I want our tongues touching, our lips melting. Coming into each other. Hard, hard, fast. Falling fast has a primal fascination, don't you think? Fast, fast, through a starlit sky, burning, burning, gone. I want the opposite of what I want: for this fluttering, beating, breathing heart inside my chest to not calm the fuck down. Why should I want that? Why? I don't want. I reject calm. I want it to beat itself up, left right and centre. I want yours to wake up and join it. They talk across the gap between my breasts and across the space between us. No? Can't they? They can merge. I want, I want. Your arms around me, hard, tight, so tight, and your mouth on my neck, my collar bone, no.. your mouth on my mouth, our faces joined, my hands at the back of your neck, my fingertips in your hair, your hand ripping away anything that comes between us. I want, I want, for us to become one hot breathing panting sweating primal wild animal, uncaged, free, tied together, flying, falling, fast, fast, through a starlit sky, burning, burning, burning, gone.

Humph

Not that anyone knows what I mean, or cares, but:
Fresher's fair on my campus. Big noisy rainbow coloured explosion of newness and noise and potential best friends. Potential clubs to join. Potential writing. Potential phd. Potential perfect skin. Potential perfect tone. Potential sex.
Potential perfect.
Something I thought all my ultra-practical, very grownup, mature and rational friends, relations and lovers might have known by now -
Potential Perfect = Nothing is perfect right now.

Paws off London

I don't know London well, but if I did, I have a feeling I'd love her. The city is like one of those people at the end of the line in a cafe - the one who looks stunning, looks at you from the corner of their eye, smiles, you smile, and then that's it... until the next morning, when it happens again.. and again, ad infinitum. Until one of you is run over by a truck, or reality intervenes and you ask him to join you, he opens his mouth and you discover he is... well... not someone who will co-inhabit your future (no no this has never happened to me before).
But to return to the point: I would have a crush on London if I could ask her to join me.
So.
It this statement by the American Ambassador to Great Britain is particularly revolting:
"This has been a long and careful process," Ambassador Robert Tuttle said in a statement Thursday. "We looked at all our options, including renovation of our current building on Grosvenor Square. In the end, we realized that the goal of a modern, secure and environmentally sustainable embassy could best be met by constructing a new facility. I'm excited about America playing a role in the regeneration of the South Bank of London."
(Quoted here, emphasis mine)

Far as I'm aware, the South Bank could do without a big shiny building that screams about the Land of the Free, yeeeeehaw!! (Apologies to the zero yeehaw-ers who read my blog, no disrespect intended, you obviously have excellent taste.)