Your breath is warm; your skin is warmer. This cuddle is freaking me out. Let’s get up and have something. It’s still dark, yet I can see your form as you stagger. You don’t look as gorgeous as you did last night. Neither as sober. Oh! you like my taste of music. Well, these CDs belong to my roomy. You should appreciate my taste of roommates instead. What was your name again? Doesn’t really matter though. It is not going to get tattooed on my back.
These walls just witnessed a revelry of instincts. Our bodies, high on the spirit, cruised through a routine of passion. Together, we created pleasure that will last, but only as long as we are up here. And when we get down and the hangover kicks in, we can forget each other and forgive ourselves. Want a smoke?
That too was a night of intoxication. A night of violence, a crusade of morals and will. I was high on my ideals. She was high on her freedom. She pushed the door close and flicked the lights off. Her arm twirled around mine in an impatient, desperate search. Her movements, graceful yet urgent, a projection of the confusion and struggle of her thoughts. In a smooth transition, as our arms unwounded, our bodies entangled in affectionate and hurtful clasp. Shielding and attacking each other at the same time. Man and woman, indistinguishable, in matter, in mind.
This is how we were sold on the altars of emotions. Two more whores sacrificed for Love, mistaking the carnage for the ultimate union. What was her name? Doesn’t really matter now. It is tattooed on my back.
Can you stop drinking? I need you sober and attentive for the rest of your stay. Let’s get back to work, we still have a lot to create. When you’ll walk out of that door, it will be closed on you forever. But, I want you to know, the moment we share is special. It’s so insignificant, cheap, promiscuous and small. Yet, it doesn’t get broken, doesn’t get thrown.