Giving my tired head a rest on the palm of my hand I see the continuation to the problematic sentence in between the tiny arrangement of flowers underneath my window. The little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to a position of confirmation.
My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a being while the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the now completed phrase over and over…
“Her eyes are sapphires, fires, liars. She is the light… the lying light…our fire created sapphires… innocent liars…”
Until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by my dehydration.
The light of my living room arrogantly ridicules the one in her sapphires; so much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil into a smile…that smile…her smile. This act in itself is a kind of language understood only by the hunter and her prey. It is similar to a contract, it is a guarantee, signed, sealed and handed over to cause the collapse of murderous intentions. Their transformation results in bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows as they act in contradicting manoeuvres allowing weakness at first, only to rise again and feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb. The shapes and sounds of things to come include thundering feminine grunts accompanied by a background of whispers … gentle clawing soothed by the magic which seeps out from our pores while we’re fully clothed, yet naked.
In ‘god’-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshly sensation between our bodies; creating the prelude to our chorus: drip…drip…drop…
From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me. I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my fingertips covering her eyes, excited by the static summoned by flesh tasting flesh. The grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them; the tickle prepares us to merge with the flock of shower drops and simultaneously the wind gives in and gradually stops.
A moment is all it takes for gravity to envelope us in a blanket of soil and leaves. My lips aching to rest on her collar bone, my hands wandering… alone. The moonlight pierces through the crowds of spectators with their wooden locks of browns and greys; falling like a spotlight onto her but excluding me even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now; the rain speeds up in accordance. Her heart beats so fast I can feel it pulsating in my throat.
We were like bats worshipping one another.
The landscape and scenery are only a contrast; steam and rain, dark and light along with the moonlight.
She holds on to me as my lips press onto her forehead.
I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me unwilling to utter a word. This moment is not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead.
Like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.
My heart threatens to tear out of my chest as I run down the stairs and towards the place beneath my window.
A sharp turn left… then a right… then another right…
She looks at me, cautious, analysing.
I scoop her up and hold her to my chest, just then – a rain drop. A small tear wells up as I begin to walk back to my apartment.
My palm gentles the top of her head