Dovetail Narration

He looked at me from across the room
Undressing me with his eyes
He put down the book he was reading
Snow by Orhan Pamuk
"A good book," he said. "Of political religions."
"Religious girls weren't allowed to wear their head scarves for some reason."

I looked into his almond-shaped eyes and dove deep
"Is he a broken soul?" I asked myself
Smokey brown eyes, deep, tormented yet playful
I was impressed by his choice of literature
From point A to point B, he came close
Inch by inch we get closer, spelling each other's significance
Our eyes met and I looked at his face
My breathing pattern changed

I touched his face
Weather-beaten, almost perfectly symmetrical face
He pulled me close and our noses met
I brushed my cheeks against his
The gritty stubble he left growing over the weekend tickled me

His lips, broad and thick,
A chain smoker, sort of parched
Yet so desirable
I kissed it, it was tender and soft
He then looked me in the eyes
He smirked with his eyes gleaming
As if his retinas were painted with only solace; no delinquency

And I could read him like a book
And immediately understood his pathways
The purpose of his visits
The meaning of his touches
The essence of his voice
I know them all, but I kept my thoughts to myself
I questioned none, nor am I about to question any

His heavy breath down my neck spells lust
And he caressed my chest
As if looking for something he had lost in a black hole
Slowly he undid the top button of my blouse
One hand going across my abdominal parts
The other gripping my hand tight
As if tightening a scouting knot
The words on my lips hailed by storm

And my heart skipped a beat
When he politely took off my blouse
"Hmm.. Laces," he said, with a mischievous look in his eyes
He kissed me again, heavily this time
The scent of his mouth and the taste of his lips
Just the same as I remember them

So was the warmth of his touch
The kind that sends shiver down my spine
And I squirmed as if having seizure
Hypnotised and devoured by emotion, I took off his shirt
And like memorised verses, he laid me down
He studied my body as I admire his

His shadow grazed over my smooth skin
His fingers, his eager hands, his palm
So calloused, yet so smooth
His collarbone and arms, tattooed
Of theological imagery and picturesque emblem of spirituality

I know this - I'm not special to him
But a quarter to 5, I turned to my left
His face close to mine; a face with cryptogram printed on it
His heavy breathing, his heartbeat

And my dawn arose with him next to me
A chiselled body covered with holy visages
Except for a patch closer to the molten core of his being
Camouflaged by occult imagery reflecting a prognostic of nihilism
An organ that is destined to stop
A beautiful art I cannot resist nor call my own

-PRK-

Black Hole Romance

Many risked so much to signs, alarmed and amused
I was walking on many paths, mainly the ones not taken
But all paths eventually lead directly to a singularity
Of which I cannot escape from, of which I can never move directly away from
And then I tried and kept trying, I was running away
Running away from many things, from gloomy evenings
A constant presence of dashing desires, hoping to discover a portal to another dimension
To a miraculous place away from angular discomfort
From political religions, from injustice done to believers
Running away from myself, from the turmoils inside me
From memories, I couldn't dredge, from thoughts they admonished
From the discotheques of deceit, from the terrible tidal that forces me
That unravels my body into streams of atoms of hate of unconditional destruction
I wanted to disappear, I needed to escape
I needed to withdraw from the race the painful ordeals
But to my face, they say, halfway down the slope of hope
There’s nothing on the other side, but disassembly and death

A black hole, so mystifying, romanticising our last breath 

-PRK-