She's in the trees, she's coming. Kate, her soft voice, with its slight dulling of sibilants. Dancing to the beat of the drums in her black velvet leotard and a black semi-transparent cloth draped over her face. Bobbing, weaving, thrusting round a double bass. Her crimped hair blasted back by the fan as she runs her hands down her pale shapely breasts. Sexual thoughts arise from the sensual world, her most feminine and fuckable album. She is my Babooshka, My little army dreamer. Don't pan out from that extreme close up of her face, stay there, savor her typically Edwardian features. Kate Bush sends me letters, signed with a kiss. I receive them with a strange delight. Add them to the collage of her in my room. I'd like to tie her up, leave her suspended in Gaffa, then watch. I'd make her go up a couple of octaves. Her deep blue eye shadow exposing the whites of her eyes and the blood red lipstick, my one dream, she's my one and only master. Only she could turn novel into song. That feeling of sticky love inside expanding in my stomach and spurring through my tear ducts making my brain melt through my eyes. My messy and sworded infatuation consuming me quietly and while I sleep she dances softly in my head, whispering in my ear, "You've always been a coward".
Kate Bush - Hounds Of Love
Kate Bush - Cloudbusting
Kate Bush - Babooshka
Kate Bush - Suspended In Gaffa
Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill
Kate Bush - Wuthering Heights (Live Session Version)
Kate Bush - Army Dreamers
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