suton
“You have to be very fond of men. Very, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they’re simply unbearable.”
Arabesque Promenade.
The wind carried the lover's gaze. Paper cups of white wine and bags of crisps; tomatoes sliced thin with feta cheese and black olives. I tied your necklace around my wrist, green and gold beads marking each stroke in the water. Pearls that glittered darkly. I kept my palms open and flat. Belly up, heart presented to a sky that smiled down with linen sails puffed up with fog. Mother used clothes pins and tied each cloud to the line, like wet laundry—heavy and dripping. From looking upwards, my lips split from the heat and the burn filled my mouth with blood.
We strolled in wet swimsuits to a white patio that served paella and oysters. We ordered bowls of mussels drizzled in a spicy Thai sauce. Decanters of bubbly stomped their feet on the table, and you plucked ice from the box to hold to your neck. I placed cubes on my wrists and watched them melt against my skin. We ate with our fingers, unabashed. Sipping slowly, spooning prawns and black rice with the small silverware. Each bite breaks the wound of my mouth and I chewed through the pain. To become full, is this what one must become—tortured by pleasure?
A Cat’s Spae.
People perceive the world as they want to. The demand of desire is so strong that it blots out the questions. We swam again after eating. The clouds crawled off the line, hiding the sun like that paper napkin at my crotch. Thunder was the low growl of a dog. A flash of popcorn. It poured as we packed up. Crowds sought cover under restaurant balconies while we ran up the narrow corridors. I kicked and screamed until my burns broke free of my body and landed in the rivulets of water. The tempest teaches us how to be calm in the calamity.
I wrung out my hair and took long strides as we arrived at the train. Every planet stopped its rotation to watch. Nothing is private anymore. Only the beating of my heart is for solitude, and you tried to take that away from me, too. Lust is like the chameleon, blending into its environment. I wanted more wine. I tried to clink those heavy glasses to hear bone-on-bone contact. Marry me, you said. I climbed into bed wet and alone, the white sheets wrapping me as wings. When I reached outwards, my fingers sparkled with the suffering stars. I spread bloody kisses on the pillows.
Passage of Imperfections.
In the morning, my burn was caramel salt like the expensive chocolate I bought in Geneva. I just want my lovers to remember me as a silver gash in the thunderstorm, stroking like salmon. Flicking their tails wildly upstream.
