Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

December 26, 2010

Cashmere

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 12:20 am

Some of the most poignant moments you’ll never see. They come when I dream of you, though I’m never so many hours away.

In the glow of golden Christmas light, I search for one last present for you. The kitten bit your scarf so I’d like to get another. Moving through shops, I’m overcome by the lights and the attention of shopboys, the piles of sweaters and scarves which are not fine enough. The cues of masculinity, leather and scent and heavy things, surround me with the thought-obliterating hum of fetish; whether I’d like to wear them or have sex with the man who does is unimportant. Perhaps this fetish for the gentleman’s icons is part of my boyish androgynous streak.

But I see all of this desire in relation to you; it flushes my cheeks walking between men’s underwear and shirts, and understanding how what you do fits the Platonic form of what they design and package. You can’t buy dominance. I want to please you and to find something fit for you, and a confusing terror of desire is burning my cheeks as I walk from store to store.

I find scarves, one in a shade of grey you might like. It’s very soft, cashmere; and I am overwhelmed with the sense this isn’t good enough; not that you would dislike it, or that I find it wanting, but – what do you buy the man you bleed and cry and suffer for day by day?

I kneel to him and I whisper mine into his hair while he sleeps; and the echoes of commerce I saw and didn’t understand as a child now come to shape – it is for this sense of devotion grown-ups buy ridiculous things, and sacrifice themselves, and the freedoms they might have while alone.

Moving in the world of items and goods, I understand and covet the form of masculinity, and you are this to me: strong hands and teeth to rip me apart. Last night I looked in a mirror which framed my back and ass, a deep curve shadowed with evening and indolent with sex; marked red at the shoulders where you grabbed me, smudged red up the spine where you came upon my smeared blood, and red again between my legs where my womb spills monthly.

So I bought you a scarf.

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1 Comment »

  1. I may not always see such moments directly, or read your mind well enough to know, but I am blessed to love someone who can express her heart so eloquently, and to be loved by someone who does. It touches me as even your hands cannot.

    Comment by Fistandantilus — December 26, 2010 @ 4:46 am


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