You had me between your palms like a butterfly. It is difficult for me to flee. You gently caress my wings, but you also take away my powder, and I can no longer fly. Every time I take a drop of powder, I melt, and I despise myself for it. Wings are flapping in the wind. You bind my heart with every glance. You’re covered in scars, but you dress in different suits so no one can see your black tie. I’m not sure if your tie was ever anything other than black. I’m not interested in your past. I just know it’s out there somewhere, scarred.
It’s the first time you’ve shown up without a suit. You are the only one wearing a black tie. Your breathing is labored. Your eyes are on fire. Don’t hide your face! I’ll remove my high heels as well. Now you see the real me, although I got the idea that you always saw the real me even when I was wearing high heels. Please do not grab my hair. Don’t force me to bend. I’d still like to see you. Just the way you are, scarred. Don’t kiss me to make me close my eyes. Don’t touch me in such a way that I can’t see how you’re putting your suit back on. You want to master me so I don’t think I saw too much and maybe so I can make you a scar as well. Paint me on the walls. Make me forget I saw you by filling the room with my moans. You desire more, yet you debate with yourself. You can’t have it both ways. We’ve spent hours on the carpet, your fingers are tattooed on my flesh, and your lips have made a home on my neck, but it’s not enough for you. You insist on obeying me with increasing zeal. All of this till I forget what colors my wings are. My scars are now mimicking yours. We are all one. Breathe! I swear I won’t hurt you…
Don’t bother getting dressed! You put on your outfit. I, too, put on my high heels. I seize the black tie memory and leave you, lost in an argument with yourself.
Photo by Ruthson Zimmerman on Unsplash
