November 20, 2011

We soon realized that it was taking longer because of the duck skin in our stomachs, sloshing around with the soup and doughy dumplings of the xiao long baos. Anticipation crawled down my legs. I widely separated my toes. I stared at the black lines on the white bed sheets, waiting to see if they would crawl and expand as well.

"I guess it doesn't work the second time around," he said as he lit up and inhaled.

I lay on my back and stared at the cement ceiling, hungrily yearning for what I wanted most. Visions. Instead, there were only floating brains, open, yellow hemispheres gliding across the hotel room. I saw what I apparently lacked. I turned to him and laughter consumed our bodies, each gasp of air happier than the next. I told him I felt like an onion, and he asked me why I felt like an alien. My skin peeled and I perspired bleach. I directed my eyes in his direction, with no real focus on anything except the words I spoke. I wanted onion soup, and it would have been strange to have an alien in my soup. Soaked bread, melted cheese, the deliciousness that is French onion soup. I felt alive, and I felt sensual.

I crawled to the windows facing the city, with a construction site glowing through foggy glass. My wet breaths created steam against the frigid windows, and it was desperately difficult to breathe with tongue circling skylight. The lights of the site shone as brightly as Hollywood and I suddenly felt sad for how much electricity was being wasted. Eight floors up, I stood naked, watching the people on the streets. A couple of fights ensued, nothing unusual for a Sunday night. Rays of orange light emerged out of the corner of my eyes and I followed them, noticing each door down the street light up one by one, like the rhythm of a song. New York had soul, it had story. It wanted to be loved. And so I danced with the city lights, embracing the world through my lips.

He licked and I understood truth. I lay afloat on the waves, my legs propped on the headboard. I stared at the tree on the wall, a scene of winter. At every glance, the branches breathed a new depiction of shivery isolation. Winter melted and returned with each passing second. The tree emitted a soft blue light on his skin, but his face was that of a stranger's. The corners of his eyes curved upwards and the smile of Buddha appeared. He was familiar foreign, but I knew I loved him. He massaged my heart and I cried. I apologized for the wrongs I committed and he nursed me with tender kisses and whispers of passion. Portishead crept under our damp skin and we trembled with delight. We are here; we are now.

He and I held each other close on the seat, as I joked that it was my dream to be hugging in such a place. I released myself and he touched the heat. I saw him roll his head back in bliss. His face vibrated emerald and violet.

As we lay side by side I listened to his calm breathing. All sensation of temperature was absent as we rocked each other to sleep, our breaths caressing the other's face. He licked the remainder of tears on my face and drank my sweat. My blood was now his, and everything I once was seemed to evaporate. As morning came, only the empty corpse remained. My blood, sweat, and tears are for him.

30.

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