VIII.
I was up on the roof when the phone rang, so I
didn't hear it. It was hot
again, so I checked the plants and watered a couple. The buds I'd cut
the
other day had dried quite prettily in the potting cupboard. I brought
them
down.
There's a message even though you weren't out is
annoying. I got one -
glorious recording of this low growl. She was coming to see me, her,
today.
I started singing and got out the bowl, turned on the oven, began
cutting up
the buds.
She came through the door, red pants to the knee,
swelling slightly, folding
lightly, clinging mostly and calves flash below in a rhythm for me to
fall in
behind. Between my own legs warmness spreads tingles its way down,
knee
and ankle fall in turn. She turns to me in the living room, breasts
bulging
above cotton knit, dark places invite my tongue into crevices, short
sleeves
from which silken arms emerge, muscled smooth boney, a young horse
I
want to ride.
Don't look at the carpet, I threw something awful
on it, I say.
You're such a wonderful person, but you've got problems,
don't you never touch me? she replies.
I lead her to the kitchen table and offer her one of the cookies
master
baked yesterday, then put on the coffee.
What's this? she asks pulling a piece of paper out
of her mouth. I look around,
oh no, sHe's made fucking fortune cookies. I take the paper from her
and read:
"If you feel you're getting anywhere, you're on the wrong track."
We start laughing.
"Master's on a chinese kick at the moment", I tell
her, and bring the coffee over.
You're just a little girl with grey eyes and I'm just a little bit
afraid of you, but I'm
in the mood for your love, I thought I heard me say.
She looks at me over the cup and says, "Gray is such a pity, you
should wear the
clothing of Mr Walter Mitty, a top designer I know." I look down. I
realise I have
covered myself in a sack again.
"You're always in your room, deep in your room", she continues,
"People are asking
about you."
"Keep your silly ways and throw them out the window - what a jolly
bad show if all
you ever do is business you don't like," I say.
"My business is not your concern," she replies, "And so what if I
don't like it, I have
to make a living like anybody else."
I press my lips, "Here is a bit of advice, you're quite welcome, it's
free - don't do
anything that is cut price - you know what that'll make you be,
they'll trick you with
their devices, trap you with the ordinary, here, get your teeth into
a small slice...Mmm,
a cake, cake of liberty - I made it this morning."
We stuff the cake into our mouths, I watch her
little white teeth and mobile lips
savoring it in a trance. Ah, she smiles pink tip of tongue finding
crumb on upper
lip, "Fresh from the garden I see," she remarks.
Fascination, sure enough takes a part of me, I
can't help it, I've got to use her every
time Fascination comes around, living inside of me. I know that some
people think
that I'm a little crazy, but I can't help it. Come and feel my
heartbeat, feel the fever
living inside of me. And I get up and take her by the shoulders,
lifting her out of the
chair. We make it onto the rug, outer layers peeled away.
My tail is about as sensitive as my finger,
but it curves through my legs as neatly as
a whippet's, push and pull as she arches
under me. And we continue this dance for
some time, stretching it out, lengthening
time, putting off the finale, each section
of my skin a locus in turn for meditation,
the sticky bridge of mind and body until
the top of my head turns to fire, and her
growls get a more loud and very happy.
We turn to face each other, get tangled
our arms and legs still trembling smile.
How about another piece of that cake? she says.
And I will sit right down waiting for the gift of sound and vision.