we, too, had gotten it all wrong more than once in our lives. we ran from desire instead of running towards it. disbelieved what mathematical induction could not prove, but what remains quite true: every pain, in every measure, can be counter-balanced by pleasure.
and i, the jagged tremor in your heart, the slight pause in your groan, am weak, for how many times i have surrendered to the illusion of lust?
but i shall find an excuse worth loving, a sentence worth of praise.
i am a woman.
no, a girl.
but more than that, i cannot feel complete unless i am a pool, half-full, passion rising to the surface, black oil floating on translucent water.
my heart is a pool collecting rivulets of desire in its basin, each drop – the sacred elixir of life. yes, i’ve changed. i used to say why be a man’s wife if you can be his mistress and now i’d rather say nothing at all.
now, i love you and you alone, but –
always a but-
i need the scarlet light to fall upon my form, if only to show off the violent carmine of my bullfighter’s cape.
my whole life is contained in the balance of virginal white and the shade of moonlight casting its fragile rays on lovers in the night. those colours merge to form my blood.
scarlet like the summer bloom of red roses, half-concealed by the shadows of rising sun.
and as i yearn for the chains of desire, wrap threads of red silk around me, dream me up sordid dreams.
i love you as you are, even if sometimes that’s not how it seems.