13th December 2011

Post with 1 note

The Snake and the Ninja

The heater’s running but the bedposts reverberate louder: the ninja’s outside.

It screeches to a halt.

Turn, thud, click, its whip slides swiftly off—-helmet in hands and

She’s there. 

Chills pepper her bare shoulders from a force more compelling than windy drafts. 

He follows a step off rhythm; blurred vision.

Ignoring the heightened awareness of every fiber in his being.

He knows she is too—-numbness is easier. She pivots abruptly,

facing him, startling him. 

His jaw is set, lips drawn, eyes focused, narrowed, and dilated.

Ironically she feels relinquishment of control.

Nonchalant helmet tossed on the dresser. Thick riding gloves fall out;

he averts his gaze from the photograph they’ve knocked over.

He conversates, trifling with coquetry. Prepared, she plays along.

With sweet intoxication, she jilts all of her defenses. 

He coaxes her to jilt a little more; coils of fabric slump to the ground.

Pulsing, rapid from his arteries, smooth from her snakelike hips, 

adulterate the stillness. Pulsing, like the mercurial vibrations of a phone,

threaten annihilation of the moment—-she knows, but she needs no

confirmation.  

Minutes like seconds evaporate into clammy dank linens. 

Sticky, spent, abstractions in the harsh incandescence pause.

Stirring, no movement. Exhaustion.

Eventually he stands up to shape up and prepare for the ride home.

Mirror’s fogged. Her sink drips.

The second leaning toothbrush dents no conscience inside him.

She’s there watching with glazed, dewy eyes. He smiles weakly at

her figure, small, lithe and limber, so disastrously close to perfection…

He can’t help it. He tumbles back towards her, flipping his phone screen down

while simultaneously distracting with tickles, nibbles, giggles, whatever

He’s got it all in his arsenal.

The zest of fervor subverts any initial numbness. And this time when he sees the stars,

he can think of nothing else. Crippling, his mind turns black. That moment of nothing,

blank page, becomes a compelling taste of death. 

I have to get going soon, 

and her stomach drops. She hopes he can’t tell—-she shouldn’t feel like this.

Her body stiffens, and she is suddenly even more aware of his form enveloped 

around hers. The way his gentle breathing tousles individual locks of her hair.

Knock out. His body, against his better judgment, is not going anywhere.

She knows the pang of relief, the sheer trust that her head can be on his chest all night,

is inappropriate but she cannot dismiss it. His heavy arm lies thoughtlessly across

those snake hips and she falls asleep to the rhythm of the winds rattling the ninja.