Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "july"

Even though it really didn’t do what it was supposed to do, what it said it would do I’d still pick up this pink nebulous; this pulsating mass like a promise, shapeless, odorless, tastless all the ingredients very important to the white rabbit which I am cooking at the moment.

I’d prefer it to all the others on this colorless palette, not only because it's clearly the best one or that it is indifferent to its surrounding but because it is the quietest one in the meadow.

I know that word, it's one of my favorite words in all the worlds. What is it doing here in the wrong place at the right time like that?

It's a word so heavy, what has more weight? Its promise or its dream?

Wait , she is not pink anymore in this song, that’s saddening but not disheartening. There is a difference, you see. Do you ?

Well, at least she's real when she doesn’t have to be.

Those who are waiting for the squalls to come to them. For all the newer storms to arrive on their shores. To wreak havoc on their coastal towns. To ravage what's left of their beautiful tristful coasts. To drown their remaining children, don't look away now, that's the world we've created, not the world we were given, that's the world we live in. But everything's riven with possibilities now. It's the possibilities that kill us. Remember that.

Will they stand by, when what they've declared for betrays them? Will they still stay with them, their betrayers? For they swear an oath, but it's the nature of the water to do that; to betray. Fickle and whimsical it is. What's a drop of fealty to an ocean. What they've been claiming, clamoring for even, they are not. They are not free, all their hate is for naught.

As for the summer storms, they are coming all of them, they'll be here soon enough. Those watery new songs will visit, stay, and relax on sand dunes for a little littoral retreat. Where that is, it is silken enough to put you in mind of warmer thighs.

All the coastal areas, a well-deserved respite for these savage beasts, hungry though they may be, will be, but they are still a little less savage than the folks they will be pillaging and reaving to their deadened hearts' content. They'll struggle for that pleasure till the storm within storms is quelled, quite so. A little lightning before a lot of thunder.

And then this; a damp peripeteia a sudden wave, like the ocean, is trying to tell us something.

Something golden is shimmering in the depths of this vast ocean, bright and dross nowhere near the surface. It's like the whole sun has sunken underwater but all its glow is dwindling.

However, it's something else entirely. Someone else. That's what they say at least, those in the water there with the creature.

They tell us if you look closely, It looks like a woman, almost human, not drowning, of yellow hair and gray of eyes. Even without the fins, no tail, she's swimming so furiously. She is moving too fast for the feat of being alive to be possibly human. That's how they know she is more, even though she's gone. How fast she is going, even the ocean doesn't know. No visible gills, yet she is breathing under the water. That's obvious, even at a glimpse of what's not there.

Standing near the sea that's licking its chops for something, I hear a clarion blaring.

A sound booms.
Then I hear it again.
Then again.
And again.

A booming sound that's quickly becoming my favorite new song that's worthy. A new song.

But it keeps blasting.

Clarion. Clarion. Clarion. Sounds. Pounding in the rain. Despair, despair, despair.

Something pushing forth from beneath the shallows, trying to break through the surface.

"Where are you?" I say.

No answer. Nothing.

Then I feel as much as hear her standing there behind me, hovering near my ear, drenched and dripping. Funny, I don't hear her breathing. I hear the water roaring somewhere behind me. It's raging, protesting, it wants the best part of it back.

"Here," She says simply.

I don't turn around. I look down and I am nowhere. There's something in my hand. I am holding something and it's steaming hot. I look past my stained jacket sleeve. Fake mermaid on an overpriced coffee cup. Lovely. I glance around. I am still nowhere. It's not even blankness.

Jack Kerouac Alley, we were supposed to meet there.

Where is that now?

Where are you?

But something ate her inside her, ate her up from the inside, inside herself. She's gone. Much like her fiefdom but the sun hasn't died yet. Where she is. The ocean isn't telling. The storms will though. Tell a lot they will.

Though something is still eating away at her, something is still eating her but not from the inside. Something is still eating her but this time from everywhere and all at once.

Mossy, dewy, grassy knolls and open roads unfolded before her bare feet, even before she drew the first breath, took a step, made her first move. She was smiling, taking it all in as she walked moving forward, strutting into the gloom of the trees. All that she saw there and even more that was looking at her, but not seeing her. All the unseen that was there yet to be seen, was watching her walk right into the haunted woods.

Carefully with extreme caution and righteous acumen, she went on walking in there. She was very well versed in this lore. The woods were gladdened to have her within them once more.

It wasn't the greatest of treks she ever trekked, far from it, but she trudged on anyway, merrily trundling along. Her breath hung verdant and supple in the misty morning air. Though it wasn't morning yet, nor was it day, or even night for that matter and it did not matter.
She could distantly hear the faint evensongs far away in the distance. What else could be heard, she wasn't inclined to say, all too happy to ignore. She wasn't telling much, she was too telling, too much, of what was to come.

But she was content at the moment, for now, as she moved on and onward, but not forward.

Though under the green flyleaf, she was happy. Because. Finally, it wasn't just the monsters that were seeking her out, when in this reality, it was the other way around. It was the other way around for her, for the forbidden was interested in Her, only her.

She was casually strolling on the dirt back roads, lonely but not alone, arms spread wide, out of her skin not inside her mind, fingers stretching forth, beads of water webbing between the brittle phalanges. But there were no trees for her to touch here, stripped or otherwise, so she strode on regardless.

However, she spoke the language of the felled trees, she did, and in these woodlands her hair were more at ease and soft around midnight. They felt nice too, like much more pleasant times from kinder by-gone days gone by, and coming still. Just around the corner. Coming for her.

Her eyebrows hirsute and heavy in this chapter. Her eyes looking elsewhere, elsewise seeing other things, those doleful eyes watching something else entirely in its entirety.
Her face porcelain white, sharp, used, virgin, dirty, about to be smashed in and broken into. Crow's feet around her eyes standing out, beautiful, she looked utterly careworn the expression on her face, peaceful. Her nose-pins double and fading twice from this story. Her swollen mouth dark darkened darkening. The small corner of her chin bore her own mark, a John Hancock of sorts, it glistened wetly, almost angrily.

Like a certain slant of light, she was whispering the kind of jingoism only the fabled forested creatures responded to. She was cackling in an ole and forgotten tongue, her laughter harsh, so harsh.

Her simple dress was quiet and as black as her thoughts. Her bra-strap visible in the gentled forest, the color of a dying leaf, and quite matching her thoughts, blackening even further more. Fearless tattoo of that bird on her willowy goose-pimpled right arm, dull and gleaming.

Her body like shape of water moved like one too, lithely soothing, a delicious draught all ready to be drunk in a single go; a wonderful blend of nondrink. A tasty treacle made up of sugary fabric.

She could handle the sorrows of her past, she wasn't surrendering to it just yet. She could breathe just fine, but she wasn't free. She twitched, shifting her weight, she breathed in something different, moving on. Straight into October she went, her scent was the pollen in the air, imbuing everywhere, and on these pages too, corrupting every dream.

She was more like the tendrils of smoke, her skin made up of roughened plumes, so she was more of a beautiful death than what Robert M. Ball failed in his imaginations to capture.

She was elated, she was celebrating in her head, for days now, going whirl whirl whirl in her mind. It was the Fete of the Dead, after all, and she was the only living one there in the dell, though she was far from being truly animated. Unnecessary Hint: She wasn't alive. But that was the design of her dust.

She was the only warm thing there, she was redundant. All the gargoyles wanted to see her in pain, excruciating and pure. Because they were feeling so generous toward her right then. She has been having too much fun without them. Even though she didn't know them and they never even met, they were resentful of her so much. Why wouldn't they be, everything was pink about her in the last days of summer. Why would they stop now, she wasn't going to. Do not quicken just now. Not yet.

She was moving too fast now. Suns and stars trying to catch up with her scrambled, scurrying after her, in her wake like she was a heavenly blade that was promised.
She was blurring every woodland animal, making the fronds slur.

The boles of trees leaned backwards, arching back unnaturally, parting open, making way for her, as she hurriedly marched on the dry tracks, covering the game trail with her footfalls, still barefooted. Hastening, she passed by so many cairns piled up in her path, on the side of the road. The crumbling midden ground trodden by her callused feet bearing witness to her intentions. She ran past so many strange things calling out to her, none stranger than her though.
Searching wildly, she fanatically tried finding the wolves that had claimed her homeland from men. Monsters. Though at times, she couldn't tell who was which. She couldn't tell them apart, because they were the same. All the monsters here were distorted by the spillage of very good deeds. She was Witch, that she knew, she knew that.

Looking down at her, all the remaining planets were quickly rearranging themselves, trying in vain to mirror her movements, carrying her forward while she carried their hopes and aspirations, in her emptied out but still beating heart that pumped more than just her blood.

She was happiness in a basket and just as tangible. She looked just darling in that decorative dress, all the swallows wanted to pat her.

But.

She looked fallow in her departure, her farewell not a goodbye. She looked like what Septembers ought to look like. September always felt carmine to her, so full of wolves, studded with night. So was she. She wasn't pretty at all. She was beautiful like that.

Although in the moment of that moment, she was moonlit, the moon was completely innocent of her. Even though she was awashed and aswirl in its bleak glow, she was lit up by the moon in the dark of the crimson canopy. The moon was everywhere, moon was in her, in her very name, moonlight limning her violent tresses even now, highlighting their madness real nice, likewise she was swelling inside the moon making it even more bloated.

She was within the very moonlight, and yet the moon wanted to rename itself after her. It wanted to change the nature of its course for her and nurture what could not be named. Nor should it be.

She was in her black tee shirt now, wearing just that and not much else, in fact nothing else. Her shirt washed in the receding moonlight was further proof that the moon was accepting its defeat. Its rage was deafening. So so bright and golden like all the lights, she loved this loss. After all, she wasn't the one who had lost the Battle of the Loos, that too in September.

Don't wake me up, she reminded the trees, all and sundry, that were not there. She shushed what was left of her. She was potent enough even here in this version. She made the journey like a real northmen though she was no man, even reached her destination, and didn't stay there like a true moken. She knew where not to linger.

The sole of her feet were wary, but at long last all the wastelands were hers. There was no one there, not even men, none there but her and yet not even her.

She seemed very one dimensional by now, but still so heart wrenching to behold. She was so well versant in their art of mindless warfare, though her accent was thick and indistinguishable, they understood what she was not saying. By burning her own palate, she had turned truly unpalatable. But despite that, they were trying so desperately to beguile her in their guileless cruelty, she was mindful of that.

She couldn't care less if they thought of her as rebellious and sinful. They could call her slattern, it matter naught to her. She wasn't insolent, though she belonged to an insolent nation, she was just developing critical thinking. Incantations and connotations, they deemed her neglectful, but what sins have she committed, against whom exactly?

She didn't bother with them anymore anyway. She could shamelessly borrow from time, she'd be timeless and in 2007 again. All the gryphons were hers to command now, so what did she care about the rest of denizens arbitrarily dying around her. Keep dying, she'd tell them. All the remaining artisanal fishermen can drown, what was that to her?

Don't let this sense of ending get to you, she reminded herself, don't be sad little one.

In the end, poison was so much kind compared to her, but she was just as dreadfully fatal. But of course, she was definitely worth more than a penny. Obviously. Her whole worth was so much more and heavy, clearly.

Fattened by the fawning moon, flattered, her entire existence was just a patchwork of whorl by this ending that wasn't the end.

She has finally turned caustic, so fulfilling. Now it ends and how. How it ends is not up to her.

This is how.

The summer is here to stay, and this July will never end.

To sate a hunger that's insatiable by nature you went insane, you lost your mind to the dust. You squandered all your gifts, you threw away your peace of mind, for a piece of mind. Was it worth it? Is there anything there under all those masks? Is there anything real behind all the layers and layers of ragged strips of ribbons and tattered slashes from your damask robe? Your tassel is sagging on your waist like the wattle of your thoughts. When will you be home again, just leave all your baubles behind. The constellations are all squeezed dry, chilled and ready to drink. So do drink it.

Mondegreen and Papier-mâché Dreams, a Fantasy that is not Fictitious, this is happening, even now, even without you.

As it happens. I want an entire day with you, a whole day, doing so many things alone and together, doing so many things to each other, to you maybe, there are so many things I want to do to you, there are so many things I want to do with you, you nameless you, the Reader, the lapsed painter, in the middle of the night, up all night, we’ll paint our day.

So many things. We are sitting in a coffee place, I am writing, you are just there and that is enough. You don’t want much and even that is too much for me.

Then we are in a teahouse in ole Persia, about to push back. I want to make love with you, not to you, I might not mean most of it, but so what, it’s better than playing safe. Though in all honesty, what we'd be doing today won't be so mild, pleasant, gentle or even civil as making love. But fuck it, who cares, certainly not you.

This is my Death Before Decaf. Death Before Decaf. A Death, even amidst words, A Death Despite Dearth of Words. There are so many words here, there are so many papery versions of you here. There are so many you here, animated, inanimate, avatars, animated avatars. Of you.

I'd have you over here in the morning anyway, it's three in the morning now but that's not the morning we were talking about, this is an ordinary morning, the Kongos are playing, an ordinary morning; an ordinary disaster.

Because we gotta heal somehow, even after hurting each other so much, so so much. You would come by at the break of dawn to break this dawn. When that big yoke in the sky is just beginning to thaw. Though gloaming is your time that suits your witchy nature.

Either you'd come by your car, or by a cab. In any case, I'd pick you from the designated place near my home. Yuck, that sounded too normal. But. I'll receive you at the iron gate anyway.

So what if it is not a wooden one, filigreed by your breath. You'd say hello, and I'll reply back though a little shyly. You’re still speaking. Your words upon mine already feeling like your breath on my face. It’s sweet even if it’s not. Inside, inside my warren, I'd take you.

I'd welcome you inside, hoping you'd do the same, and welcome me inside you. Though I can't promise that it would be the gentlest of entries. On my part. A gentle Entry I won't do. A gentle entry it won't be.

I miss my home, I want you to be that home for briefest of respites. For a moment. I want to rest at your womb.

In that darkened bliss, I'd be content and at peace, I know it.

I'll show you around the place a little bit, it’s hardly like your grotto but so what, even outside the water you can breathe, you are breathing, you are breathing fine here.

After a while, whilst the sun is still young and angry, we’ll go inside.

I'd ask you to take a seat in the living room, while I'll go check something, having a surprise prepared for you. Again too normal and not overwrought enough. After asking you to stay put, just stay there, I'll go into the kitchen.

But you'll follow me there, trailing behind me, like you are a twisted Alice and I am the grotesque White Rabbit; after all, I am the incumbent gargoyle, baby, but not yours.

You loiter nearby. Your temporary but close proximity is enlivening me, in spite of your intentions, I am enjoying your presence, even if not your silence, you smell nice, but you are not using your mouth right.

In the kitchen, we'll make tea, that is the surprise. It is as simple as that. Yet it’s not that simple.

Since you have told me you have only tried the local brands, I am aching to make you a tea from my favorite brand, PG, and I long to taste you too, drinking you in.

So
We'll make the tea
No
I'll make the tea, you watch
You'll watch.

This is too simple for my taste, but for your sake, I’ll keep it simple.

The sea is between.


Then we'll order breakfast but wouldn't wait for it. It'll come, sure, but it'll go cold. We’d have other things on our mind, we'd be doing other things. But since we'd have the whole day to ourselves, I'd do things very differently but slowly.

We'll drink our tea, we'll talk a little bit, joking all the while. Maybe. Though I wouldn't want to waste our time, little as it is, how small amount of it we have in our closed fists.

We shan't be wastrels, we shall not be.

Then we'll go upstairs. On the way up, at the bottom of the spiral staircase, I'd ask you if you trust me. You'd nod. I'll ask you to close your eyes which you’ll do, I’ll resist the urge to steal a kiss.

Gently propelling you forward, my hands on your back pushing you a little, you leaning back, I'll take you upstairs that way, and guide you to my room.

The wound is open, the sky is festering.

I’ll ask you to wait just for a second, then I'll go in my room to put on the music I have carefully selected for you.

I'll start with Eternal by Evanescence.

Rushing you in now, my pulse quickening, I bring you into my room. In that darkened womb we'd go.

Now.

I ask you to open your eyes, you do, taking in my room, my books, but for once not interested in them, then you are only looking at me, yeah, told you this is a fantasy.

So close to you that I can breathe and touch you, I want to touch you everywhere, I do. But not yet, just hold the ranks. For now, I am content with just breathing you in. You are here and I feel a rush that my overwroughtness cannot deny.

Yes, winter is still sleeping.
But here you are, drinking me in, I am doing the same, what makes me happy is I need this, you don't, but you are still here for me

with me
doing this
dance

It's raining outside but you are listening to the music

I come to you
I come closer
and I hug you
pulling you in for a warm embrace

A long embrace
only this time
outside of fiction

It is raining in here too.

After healing a little bit from the temple of your body, your warmth seeping into me, I pull back

It's end of the song
and we have just begun, we are barely beginning.

So at the very last second, we dance a little bit, a slow dance, I am holding you close to me, though this is only a respite, soon you will have to go.

No matter.

We dance quite a bit, lost in your touch, I forget about you a little, then we stop, panting a little.

I twirl you around, wrapping my arms around your waist, your back pushing into me, I shove my face in the hollow of your shoulder blade, your skin reminded me of the sun
a dying star is what you are

I inhale deeply
my nostrils flaring up at your scent, you are glowing up like a death of a small star

Then I turn you around and hug you again, like you'd disappear because I am writing this and this isn't real.

I feel nothing
I feel everything
I feel you
I want you to love me back
I take a hold of your chin, cupping your face, I kiss your one cheek and then kiss you on the other cheek. Leaning forward, going in, I finally kiss the mouth of a girl I really like.

I pull back after a while, to take a breath, breathing a little, then I kiss you again

We exchange spit a little bit more, our tongues darting in and out of our mouths
you pause to take a piece of gum
you chew it a little bit, then taking it out, place it in my mouth

It’s warm from your mouth but I do the same, I chew it and then I swallow it.

You laugh
Like that sound
A lot

Taking hold of your face, I kiss you quickly before you fade again
then I kiss you ten times in quick successions

I know, ten times, because I counted
and the moon wasn’t there to witness it.

So, I kiss you ten times more, I want to kiss you a hundred times

It seems tedious but I try anyway.

I stop halfway amidst the staleness of our breath

you are only half fish
Too much
And I'm no longer human

I've kissed you too much and not at all.

Then
I kiss you some more, and then I kiss your temple
and I tell you I want to kiss you in every room
you laugh again
and I find that I quite enjoy it
your laughter

I put on another song
this time Baby by Warpaint

I am in front of my bookshelf, I am facing it, then I turn around

I lie down on the floor at the foot of bed next to the bookshelf

Then you are standing there above me. You stand there smiling.

I reach for your hands, your feet on either side of my body, I am holding out my arms, grabbing your hands, I gently lower you onto me, you come down onto me willing, your smile like a tail of burning comet.

And you sat down on me with all your glorious weight, since your weight is real, it is making you real.

A dying comet, you burn me.

I adjust you a little, move you around, it’s all so pleasurable, for me
you feel good
on me like that

I feel the wild curve of your smile, the mischievousness flashing in your eyes

You quickly spring up and then sat down hard, I missed your weight even in that smallest of separation.

Suddenly the soles of your feet are on the inside of my wrists, you have pinned me down, I am a bullet on the ground, though you are not my paper valentine, this bullet is for you. You wiggle a little and it’s all great, sitting astride like that on me, I want to keep this memory all to myself and you allow that

then
You twist around on my tummy
your back to me now, my hands on it, you are bouncing a little, falling back you plop against me
your hair in my face
you start to move and turn around as the music switches to Civil Twilight
turning around and the whole world turns around with you, you flip over stretching out the plane of your body over me, you lie there looking down at me.

Since your face is already hovering above me, we make out some more, and you realize we are still clothed at this point. You sit up straight, pulling up your knees, you stand up again and then sit down hard again, leaning down, you sputter, let’s do other things, and laugh.

So we get up and meander into my bathroom. Where I hug you fiercely once more, once again, and never again.

I step back a little, I give you a quick kiss on the lips and then I am kissing your breasts through your floral flowery cotton dress, the circlet crown made of thorns gleaming on your head and I am trying to gnaw your nipples through the cloth of gold that’s not there, you are braless in your dress, but in actuality you are not, you are wearing it.

But since I am writing this, you are what and how I say you are. I let go of your breasts, bending down, I am on my knees, I press a kiss to your bellybutton, then I kiss you down there between your legs, even through the thinnest of veils, through the shroud of this red mist, through the cloak of nothingness, I can still feel your heat.

I am drinking it in, soaking it up, enjoying this delicious viand, the façade though, is about to be cracked.

Take it slow, go easy, you say, well then, this is where we finally remove everything.

I rose and meet you half way in between our keep.

And.

We proceed to take off each other's clothes and remove all, more than we wanted to.

You start by taking off my black shirt and then jeans. Impelling everything and what is between the shadows.

My turn. I strip you of everything including your skin, strip of everything, now you are bare, now you are you, now, now I'll have all of you.

Then we are naked, finally and fully, even without the moonlight, you are glowing.

My hands all over you, exploring, foraging, I want to touch you everywhere, my fingers limning your skin.

Glint of memory and you can see in the dark. I am not blinded by your light yet. So I move away from you to another light.

One by one, I light up the scented candles on the nook above the tub
then we are getting in together, wading into the water that isn’t there
in an empty tub that’s devoid of every wetness, you see it’s not filled, but I am going to fill you up.

but even without the water, you are swimming across to me, gliding toward me.

We are in the tub, suddenly you are in my arms, lying against my chest, my arms go around you on their own as I hold you to me, to myself.

Then I am cupping your breasts, covering them with my light touches, my fingertip adept.

I couldn’t relax, the night was too bright, now I can.

I am scooping them in my hands, myriad worlds racing by, I am fondling your breasts, playing with your nipples, wanting to put them in my mouth, cover them with my lips, my teeth tightly clasping on them, but I don't want to rapture, not yet, so I hold back.

We are in the tub, but I want to make this about you.

I grab a hold of you by your arms, I help you up, you come to me at once, so willing that I mistrust your smile immediately.

It did occur to me that you just might be my imagination gone stale, maybe you are a slipknot tying my fragmented thoughts together.

But there isn’t any madness here that can be shared by the two of us. Yet you can be a sadness shared by all of us.

I did think of taking out my nonexistent dirk and stab you before you slip under water again.

I did think to do that, but I am not going to do that.

Instead, I edge forward myself, sliding down the tub, placing myself below you, getting into position.

I tap your shoulders, gesturing you to get up and move, you rise up, you are moving and now you are looming over me, you keep on moving, until you are at last sitting on my face, you finally settle back and settle down and rest for a while, while we sketch the rest of the history.

I arch backward as I eat you out in simplicity.

Oh, you thought I was going to use a euphuism, no, there is no time for double entendres here.

It is simple. It's a simple pleasure to pleasure you so simply. I love it and given your wetness in a tub that’s not filled with water, so do you, apparently.

So I get a little creative and eat you out some more. You help as well, moving around, back and forth. I am gorging. We do this, you and I. Until I can't breathe no more.

I ask you to get off me, you do albeit reluctantly, then I am breathing again but am I alive.

And you, you are something else, what you have been screaming was a siren call for your own self but I was the one caught up in an undertow, drowning.

You are still hovering above my face. Looking down at me in this completely sated, spent state, a surfeit of your smiles stifling, suffocating me, looking up at you and seeing you rendered utterly breathless, I think to myself I truly am The Man who Rained, excellent novel, by the way.

Or maybe I am just Dark Darker Darko. But never mind that, forget about it, I am getting out.

Pushing you aside, I step out of the tub. I rearrange you, helping you lie back in the tub and placing the back of your head on the corner.

I stand back, checking the angle. I reach down again and adjust your head on the edge of the tub. Now it is resting properly on the porcelain rim.

Your head is arching back, your neck is lovely, your throat is exposed
your mouth is slightly open, but opens even more when I place myself in your mouth
by that I mean you know my what, this is a revised version after all, somewhat redacted
and then

I facefuck you some, hey it’s not that revised nor that redacted

but I do not come and quickly remove myself from your mouth

I don't want this to end this soon, I don’t want to end it at all.

Now I am in the middle of the middle of your nowhere
but I am still in the middle of my bathroom, whilst you are still in the tub
and then you are no longer there
but standing here with me

You smile and I find myself echoing back your smile
We hug
and
I am thinking which one of your lips to kiss first. I find myself going for your mouth and we are kissing again

your lips were swollen but I don’t even have to tell you
to open your mouth, you do that anyway, on your own
I love your little pink tongue
then my mouth is moving south, I pass by your neck and then my face is in your chest, between the swell of your breasts, now all the squalls are coming for me. Sorry can’t help. I wasn’t supposed to be writing this.

Anyway. I’ll Milan Kundera it later. I will finish.
Back to this. I cup your breasts, squishing them together, with my face between in your bosom. I scoop them
My face nestling in between them
I kiss one side and then the other
a nibble here
a lick there
these tiny bites of ardor
then I place both, both your nipples in my mouth, in auspicious greed, my tongue curling around them
but after a while
at some point, I had to let them go
I do
and I am sliding down, I slide downward
on your smooth skin
a graceful descend
descending
after having paused at your bellybutton and licking it, I go farther south, until my head is between your legs and I am kissing you down there
again
the clichés roll in
your thighs parting, my kiss deepening, your flower blooming
lame yet
and I drink in the resinous scent of your forest
your beautiful cunt
I am still kissing, I am still eating you out, keeping at it
so much so that my tongue becomes skilled at your mold
but
enough is enough
I take my mouth off your lips
and
I rise from the cold tinder like a colder phoenix
Inserting myself in between your legs, I go in and I am inside you
inside you
I lied
my entry is gentle
gentlest of entries
it is
but I still lift you off your bare feet a little bit
and then set you down again
curtain falls
and that wizened wizard from santa fae is me
but it’s not enough
I want more
Can’t get enough
I pluck myself out of you
grabbing you by your throat, my movements sudden and lethal, I turn you around, now you are facing the titles
your breath fogging the gray titles
I want different things now, my, you do have a cute butt
so
gaining access to your tightness through your other hole, I plunge in hard and deep,
this deeply does not bother me
when you didn’t yelp, I carry now, moving to and fro, back and forth, oh you did squawk but that wasn't a protest.

I have entered you from behind, I am now pounding you from behind, your clenched fists against the tile walls that gleam with your shadows
but no
even though you are enjoying this
it’s not enough.
Pounding your butt is not enough
not nearly enough
I yank myself out of you
turn you around once again
your long hair whipping around
taking your wrist, I force you down on your knees
it’s my turn now, finally
and I am in your mouth once again and we are both working so assiduously for my happiness

I feel the back of your throat like you know the back of my heart
then
maybe you whisper this or maybe not
be a good boy and spill
I wetly take myself out of your mouth, you are breathing hard and on the verge of something, without warning and abruptly I erupt all over your softness, coming hard on your face.

I glance down at you
Whey sheen of my end glistening every so prettily on your face

I bend down squatting in front of you
even through the veneer of my pleasure, I kiss you deeply and your own pleasure is hard to watch.

But this scene is of gore galore.
And this, this is not something painted by a war, not a warpaint.

Our children long dead and crumbling off your face
your visage broken
finally
I kiss you long and deep
but we are not done yet.

I help you lie down on the tile floor, I spread your legs
in a spread eagle position
flipping around, I position myself above you
but
upside down
my face once more between your legs

I slip myself into your mouth again
I am also bringing you to individual happiness too and you are gurgling and happy with it
soon we both reach the end of this fiction

I have drowned in you by now
Though I have long ago dried off, I still wipe myself on your face, I can feel your smile through that against me.

Then we clean up
after a quick shower
we are in our bed
actually, we both kind of fall into bed, laughing mirthlessly, I pull you up by your armpits, scooting your butt, you slide up
and then, I am looking into your eyes again, careful not to look into them

How can I ever be satisfied with you
Being with you is quite insatiable
but I am enjoying penetrating you again as I look into your eyes
all my dead trees watching
but very soon, too soon, too fast, too quickly
I implode within you

Finally, I am dozing off, napping in your arms while you stroke my hair, one of your nipples in my mouth, I am not still, not fully sated and I never will be.

Not with you, not from a Jedi.
After we wake up, the white rabbit is awakened too.

We order pizza, we ate it cold while watching the penultimate episode of the penultimate season of a perennial show.

Damn, that dragon is iced now, and you are my queen, I do not need to call you that, or bend the knee.

You have to go, you must leave, must you go, go you must, but not before we dance again, I am not letting you before that, so I put on this final Song for you,

Como Poden Per Sas Culpas

And we are dancing to this music one last time.

Cantiga 166.
One last dance that is the end.

THE END.

In the alternate ending of this retelling, in this deleted scene, an addendum; my codicil.

In reimagining this, I am lying on the sofa in my living room, reading Forbidden, when you come along, walking in, holding one of my books in your hand, your smile though not necessary is the impetus we need to be real, to make this real, to make it last.

Very casually, you sit down sideways on me. And we read together like that and it really is peaceful.

This, only this, is what I really really really want.

That’s my ultimate fantasy. This is serene, like the golden light in alpine cities.

So much so, that I find myself asking you, why is my magic is not enough for you.

And also

I want to have anal sex with you, to try it at least, I have an idea, I have so many More ideas.

I’ll be good at it. I don’t know. I know it. I am lying supine. Then you are lying prone. It can work. This is real. So if it can work out in reality, then it should definitely work in this fantasy.

I don’t care about you.
Vox Vulgaris.