I make note of the freckles and tiny marks strewn across your soft white torso. There is a mole just above your right hipbone. I place my fingertip on it. Kyle had one there, too. I begin to think up names for these newly discovered constellations upon your astral body. A Smiths album plays in the background, rotating on the lopsided record player. Morrisey’s voice fills the room with his bittersweet voice. The light of morning seeps in around the sides of your window shade. I run my fingers through and through your thick, wavy locks. Your eyes are shut. Mmm, you moan. We are naked. How did I get here, the thought drifts through me and dissipates somewhere between our bodies. I recently learned that time spent completely nude with another human being should be cherished. Why distract myself from this beautiful moment to think about how I got here? This is where I belong and here is where I am. My fingers run along your chestnut hair, tender and firm. I smile at you, closed-eyed and dreamy. I want to take everything in. To soak up the moment. I fill myself with the image of your wondrous nakedness, long-limbed and almost hairless. The sweet scent of us lingering in the air after we’d made love. And how we were surrounded by all the film photographs of your travels through Europe. Your journeys, tangible, dangling across twine. Our little universe reverberates with a serendipitous awareness: that we found each other, and we simply enjoyed each others’ presences.
In Milan Kundera’s, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” Tomas, one of the main characters, comes to this conclusion:
Making love with a [wo]man and sleeping with a [wo]man are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of [wo]man) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one [wo]man).
You: I thrive on change.
Stranger: living as a catalyst or seeking one?
You: Both. I’m a chameleon.
You: I just throw myself into everything, always, to see what happens.
You: Every day is like an experiment or whatever.
Stranger: You are the most dangerous kind of person, then. To those you would keep close, most of all.
Stranger: Study the moon, meditate on the tides.
You: Correction: I am the most exciting kind of person.
Stranger: That’s the seductive nature of poison, but as a conduit of change, you will unravel all you touch.
precipitation in however form
immeasurable it comes, l find you here
tucked away beside me, nestling,
My heart is soft butter in the presence of you
hopeful absence of flesh
in an attempt to recall your laugh
or the feel of the skin of your palms
this is a love poem,
it has been a very long time.
“I would never give up women,” he says, grinning matter-of-factly.
The boy’s eyes are starless skies. Trembling, delicate, powerful. If you met him, you would understand. They are two centers melting inward into complete, unwavering darkness. The girl feels herself being pulled into its depths. Encompassed within his momentary gaze, she becomes rendered in admiration and fear of his eyes, like untouched pools of fossil fuel pining for a single match. He is an incubus in disguise, she thinks.
Her sacral chakra is fraught with desire.
She is fearless.
Now and then she will allow her eyes to follow the collar of his unbuttoned shirt to the center of his chest. A familiar plane of flesh and hair and muscle. The heat shimmers. It is delicate and quivering. It grazes their skins like secrets unfolding from ripe lips to the ear. She imagines running her tongue along the hard ridges of his arms and up around his neck.
The girl’s words catch fire in her mouth as she speaks.
She says with utter honesty,
His eyes widen.
“Is that a proposition?” The boy asks, grinning.
She sips on her water bottle full of cheap white wine.
One dreary morning after a night of heavy drinking, he found himself sprawled on a sidewalk, mugged and hung-over. The boy failed to recognize himself in a public toilet mirror, and from then on gave up the devil’s poison for good.
Six months later, he sits here at a dilapidated picnic table beside the girl. His time spent in the cocoon was over. And the girl was there to watch him emerge. She was there in time to clasp her palms around his newborn body. To claim him. To peek into her palm and selfishly admire what now belonged to her, but only for the night.
Vegetarian. Temporarily. Well, it’s a 10-day stint. But it may continue if I am feeling up for it. Which I may as well do, because I would love to avoid heart problems and diabetes in my future! AND i’m actually enjoying it!!
Aside from that, it forces me to be more creative with my cooking, and to play around with different flavors and textures! Fun! Tonight I made my go-to recipe of stir-frying mushrooms, broccoli, garlic and onions in oyster sauce (and a splash of honey soy-garlic sauce). Crispy, savory, goodness.
I’ve also been making these amazing sandwiches. Toasted whole wheat, a layer of hummus, thinly sliced tomatoes, melted cheese, then baby salad greens on top. A little drizzle of sweet Asian sesame dressing, and voila!! ALL the savory flavors.
Lastly, I bought a $5 mini carton of egg whites. Pure egg whites. Although I do miss the creaminess of the yolk, I put in a bit of milk, and it’s better. I’ve been making cheesy scrambled eggs, sauteed mushrooms and egg whites, eggs in a basket with egg whites. I feel so much better not consuming the cholesterol. And yes, my heart will thank me! Woo!