She asks “Do I move you?. Do I still make you sigh like I once did?
Do you wring your hands when I’m away? and when I return,
do you feel your breath taken away?
She lies supine, through half closed lids she stares at me. Questions
hang heavy in the air. I would love her but it’s just not there.
She recalls how I use to stare, a love story in my eyes, a thousand sweet words on
my lips. Sometimes I’m sad, when she’s taciturn, or acting coy. My nerves
ripped bare, raw, open and bleeding. Each turning away, each unkind word
each time she shuts the door while i’m pleading
I recall when fickle fortune would turn my way, and she’d smile…
Let me describe it.. I will need to go down.. down paths of despair..
only then will you understand… I will liken it to the slave’s last stand,
hungry and weak against a band of theives.. of a maiden’s last pleading
words in the leering face of a rapist, of a bedouin bastard’s
rasping suckling upon the breast of an exiled mother,now dead from thirst.. in a cold
desert, a cold dusk, in a cold world.. night… as these three look, outcast,
downthrodden and forlorn, to the horizon.. It makes itself seen, a ray of light..
bold, and forward.. coming into its own and giving no quarter.. the beauty
of her smile is a harsh master.. it is not gentle, no loving arms or kind embrace.
it grabs your, presses you down, submerges you beneath its waves.. until it passes
and is gone… then you emerge gasping, choking.. and observe: this is not the world
you left behind.. you no longer breath free air.. you are in thrall to La Belle Dame sans Merci.
She lays there, only a T-Shirt on.. an old T-shirt.. it says “Love kills slowly”
Its frayed and slack…a story there….. Once upon a time.. on a beach, a party.. a confident young
sharp guy.. lots of guys at this party… lots of girls too.. and skirts.. shorts..
short skirts, long skirts, bum shorts, short shorts.. waists.. tiny waists.. with coloured
belts.. waists moving slowly, leisurely.. in time with the music, like a metronome.. one waist…
a pair of legs.. feet.. cute tiny feet.. tiny toes, covered in shiny polish.. lots of colours
pink, red, orange, yellow.. small ankles.. long legs..flip flops… my gaze seems to travel miles up them.
up the legs, back to that waist.. the slim belt.. the shoulders.. sloping.. the neck..
long, hellenic, graceful.. the face.. He walks over, swaggering, the look on his face cocky
with a hope and prayer that its enough to hide his savagely pounding heart…
He’s thankful he’s black.. the rush of blood to his face would have given him away.
He talks slowly.. He appears confident.. It’s so he doesn’t stutter..
"You’re lost",he says… "I beg your pardon?" Her brows furrow, confused
"Heaven is that way" he points upward "Angels like you don’t belong here.."
A tacky line.. if he hadn’t had a spot of luck, it wouldn’t have worked…
a smile.. “You mustn’t tell anyone, We seraphim need to unwind too”..A laugh..
light breezy..friendly..more than he deserves..he feels lucky..poor him..
Wine, dancing, talk. Dancing.. he first notices her scent here.. holding her close… to
the music.. As Lynxx croons “Fine Lady” in the background.. he sniffs.. tentatively at first
and then takes a breath… a lungful of her.. its amazing..he’s pro but here he’s out of his depth
she smells like salt and sunlight.. like dreams.. good dreams.. full of happiness and laughter..
of old hands held together side by side in front of a fireplace…of kittens gifted to grandkids..
of reading children peter pan stories and putting them to bed.. of rose petals and sex on crisp white silk sheets…
of diamond and golden rings.. of a life spent together.. she smells dangerous.. a player cannot have such dreams.
They keep dancing, twining together, her friends hover around, anxious to cockblock, pull her away.. but he’s skillful..played these games over and over.. they stand no chance.. one by one they are charmed and disarmed…
they walk together to the beach, water around their ankles… he jokes, she laughs and he falls deeper..
Talk, wine and laughter.. then he stops… a calculated move.. the silence draws… one second…two seconds..
three… she swallows.. unsure of what to do..why is he silent all of a sudden?.. why is he looking at her like that she wonders.. doubts..unsure.. he spots the moment.. as sure as a circling hawk.. a born hunter.. he springs.. dips in for the kiss..her eyes widen.. but she does not pull away.. their lips meet… soft, gentle, sweet… every thing a first kiss should be… loud laughter from the party.. a girl is dancing on the table.. obviously drunk.. Funmi.. he files that information away.. He does not go further.. the first sign of weakness.. he helps her up.. on their way back, they stop at the souvenir shop.. she buys him a pair of glasses with a fake nose.. he looks silly..they take a picture.. he buys her a shirt..”I’ll die for you”, he jokes.. the shirt reads “Love kills slowly”…
He walks her to her room.. she lets him in..they make out.. no longer gentle but quick and rough.. passion and
need make caresses reckless.. takes her top off.. she lets him.. more kissing.. a deft move.. he unhooks the bra..
her arms snap upwards.. covering her breasts.. years of puritan upbringing foiling his plans.. damn.. he should have
given her more vodka.. she puts on the shirt… love does kill slowly.. he’s dying seeing her sitting there…
just out of reach.. the “no” framed in the set of her shoulders.. “Just hold me, please”.. normally he would say no,
he would leave.. but she’s different.. he holds her close.. rocks her in his arms and kisses the top of her head…
An image flahes into his head.. Funmi, laying in her room, alone, drunk, vulnerable…. he’d had her before..
it would be easy.. no, he shouldn’t… he should stay here…be faithful..”You arent dating, not yet” his defunct conscience whispers.. and he knows he wants it.. He kisses her cheek and says goodnight.. as the door closes.. he just catches a glimpse of her shirt. Love kills slowly.. he checks his wallet.. 2 condoms left.. to work.. Funmi waits..
I say yes.. it isn’t a lie.. I bend over her.. whisper in her ear.. “yes you do”.. and lean in to the task at hand
I’m impatient and pleasures await..