Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

July 13, 2010

First you find the ends, then you find the center

Filed under: Text — Tags: , , , — Lilac @ 4:27 am

Switchblade ‘n calamari kind of night; so tender and then you’re not. Freckled with a devil’s aspect you eat me in the backseat. Pure as it’s ever been, a caught breath: I love you. Little sister swears fealty for a plate of squid in fresh blood orange juice.

22 gauge needle through the chest. Why? It’s illogical and it isn’t a sacrament like I thought my first play piercing would be. Your why is always control and by intuition I allow you.

I have longed for Daedalus & free to touch him, we’re naught but feathers on each other’s breath.

Love takes many forms, kittens. So does restraint.

There are many ways of love. Restraint is one. To come to the circus formidable in suit and dress, despite your chaos, is another. This girl sang wistful song to herself and thought you would not come in time; you came.

I kissed Hades for luck & finality, read Daedalus’ distance and did not. Love takes many forms. The announcer says We are down to the bottom of the rabbit hole and this metaphor of the hour comes full circle; I walk to the woodsman, and we are on.

He motions; strip shirt off. We dance in growing bonds; he throws one stripey-tight to the floor, and my knickers; quick rope winds, a stray spank, and in bright hot lights the woodsman hoists me high, naked but one black-and-white striped tight and lengths of jute rope. Hair falls over my eyes; I want to see my lovers’ expressions, but to try noticeably, for more than instants, would dishonor the tie. I catch Daedalus’ eyes in shining unreadable teal. You pulled shards of glass from my heart, said his rivet queen.

The woodsman lies back in his red satin vest, lazily whipping me as I swing by. Suspension is amazing; through the pain I drink it like a good dream which won’t last long. I am untied, hoisted down, and carried off overshoulder. Hug the woodsman. Kiss the woodsman. Scamper lazy for my clothing scraps. Still flying, overcome and wonderful, glad to be part of the circus. Glad to play ropegirl ambassador to 2 intrigued patrons. Glad beyond measure the 3 I wanted there are there.

Apple pie shots and cupcakes, trying to read lovers’ faces and do things correctly. A few dances, a few words.

There are many ways of love. To sit in pyjamas talking earnestly over white wine and pizza, hurt sad and worn, is one. The contrast of your private to your public face shows trust, and great measures of soul. The contrast of your public to your private face shows will, care, attention to detail. It all speaks very well of you.

Sleep in the warm, warm hollow between him and her. Drive sweet Adeline to Oakland.

Cool damp of the japanese garden, Buddha gazing with a satisfied cat’s smile. Your fingers twined in mine; we are precisely of a wavelength. Beauty alone remains, in the moss and rocks, and your spare words.
Riding the sinuous hills of San Francisco I collar myself.
My blonde hair sweeps her black hairs threaded in tangles through the carpet fiber.
The ringing of bells and a whipped guitar string. cut scene.

Drive sweet Adeline to Berkeley; Daedalus and his partner tuck me into bed. This is how my childhood stories ended: and they went to sleep.

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