Tue 11/17/09 8:35 PM
I remember that girl, the one you wouldn't expect, the one who peeks around the columns. She's the image that moves close to my side, animated with sultry energy in my memory... She pauses after a spirited point, eyes search entranced for a moment as if at a glad memory - until she notices the steadiness of my gaze. I watch, fascinated. Study her from angles and distances, volumes and resolutions... No artifacts that fancy her image could ever capture the experience.
You're always in a skirt with stiletto boots, though I'm not sure I've ever seen you like that. Maybe in pictures. They're all vibrant and deep in the warm wood of my dreams...
That girl will always be there, friendly and dazzling, between my first love, an Earth angel of smiling repression, and the perpetrator of my first (that is, non-self-inflicted) orgasm: that willful fourteen year old Latina. Indelible, she is. If I come to visit and climb back where nobody else can see, I find her sliding soft and warm through the flickering mid-tones, surging with luscious gravity... the most magical creature of all. Purring with pleasure, dominated by passion... sparkling with lust.
She's the second greatest gift I could ever get. She's the mark of the witch's magic. Come murder, plague or meteor, she will always be mine.
I miss you truly. I want to join you in the mammal's circle, in range of depth perception, stereo hearing and unscrupulous pheromones... where we lock eyes over the fidgety din of our body language. I want the warmth of my gaze on your upturned face and hear those words that come from all the way down.
The best gift indeed.
* * *
Well... it didn't work that time
Yup, she dumped me. She dumped me months ago. Today she finally admitted it... 'as-good-as' admitted it... There’s so much boring and regular and run of the snooze conventional in this world… The literature will bear out the fact that I predicted it, I planned for it, I even begged for it… I knew it would happen and still I jumped… every berserker knows he’ll one day be a bloody heap. Fond memories, of course, but the tenderness behind my fist in her hair is now the hurt behind the impenetrable smirk…
It's more than that, though... She was special in a way that would be difficult to explain. She wasn't my first time, and she wasn't a first love, but there were certainly elements of both. She was an insight I wouldn't have known to ask for, and an experience that I can no longer imagine myself without. She was the Witch... my Tisbea with the last word... A blessing in the truest sense, though the most ironic sort that a loving diety could ever bestow...
I’ll do my damndest not to hate her… nobody get’s out of a mammal’s mind with no violence done to the memory. Trying won't matter, however... I’ve never been able to make it stick.
...yeah.
She still has to be killed and eaten.
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