Tuesday, April 18, 2006

I play with fire



Love is true, love is free, but love is a naughty child.

She never settles for less than everything.

Her intentions are the best, but her moves are sly and unpredictable.

She is life, true life in the best sense of the word, but her will is unbounded.

She will take whatever is at hand to have the world.

She does not think. She loves.

She wants my existence, my mind, my dreams and my life.

No pacts, treaties, commitments have any value whatsoever.

Love just loves, and loves irrationally, intensely, without bounds.

If she loves me, I am the Universe, I am Creation.

If she leaves me, I am the specter of nothingness in the winds of Hell.

I am in love with Love; therefore, I am doomed.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

The Big Crunch

She was there, lying down, reading a book. I could only see her lips, her neck, her hair spread over the pillow. She was dressed in a white T-shirt partly covering her breast, and blue silk shorts, very short, revealing more than I could see. Her legs were slightly apart. Her left hand was holding the book.

The left hand held the yellow book and the other drifted in space, having fun with her surfaces, discovering her places, exploring her textures. Between every page turn that wandering hand would sneakily slip underneath her shirt, and cast, over my hidden face, shadows of the flickering turgid little nipples. And each time that happened, the cloth would slide up a little bit more, revealing more skin, her breasts and their pink peaks.

Finally, the shirt became a burden. She dropped the book and turned aside. I rapidly moved back as if she could possibly discover that eye in such a small crack. When I returned, she was there, in the same place as before, free from all obstacles except the blue silken short, which was now a bit darker near the centre.

Now, the right hand was holding the book. The sinister one was now free to explore the universe as well as it wished. It seemed to prefer smoother textures, warmer places, and so it slipped over that damp silk covered delta. It was daring, it was faster. Her legs would tremble, her lips would part, and it would slide over once more. I could now hear her breathing; stronger. I saw her tongue moving through her lips. The hand was busy, gently patting, sometimes rubbing. And after the duty of turning the page it would always return to that same cozy place. But this time she crept beneath the surface. A sigh. She trembled while it slipped under her silken short. The avid fingers did not wish to return. They did not wish to stop. A moan. The page was not turned when it should have...

The book was dropped and her face was revealed. Impatient, she finally got rid of the last of the obstacles. She gave up the book and all that was left. The room was in flames, and all had gone wild. The odors and sounds so strong and so great, that I by mistake, slipped; and fell through the door.

And there was I, lost before her. She looked at me, but it was too late. No more could she stop. Not there. Not now, at that precise moment. Always staring, she kept on her stirring, and breathing, and moaning, erupting in spasms, her eyes nearly closing. Her gaze would not leave me. In fear and with haste, I tried to escape, but no longer I could. My limbs would not move. My sight became dim. Her breast nearby pulsing would stop my poor heart. Her moans became shrieks and and the air burnt like fire. The air was her smell, and no more could I breathe. I was burnt by wet lips. Scarred by hot skin. To nothingness squished. I drowned in her fluids. She bit like a viper; she grew wild and vile. My universe shrank, and my mind was dissolved while I, no longer myself, was dragged to be lost forever, into that ravenous black hole.