Stuck

[Hipparchia]

Stuck

Stuck
(reprise)

My trembling hand under his mouth,
The seal of his sensual lips
Deep onto my skull,
A father-like kiss and a sniff of my hair,
He has me say his name,
Then disappears.

I grab his fingerprints
Through my chilled wine glass;
Feel their warmth penetrate my skin,
Black eyes fixed upon my white teeth,
Nocturnal thoughts locked under my skirt.
My anxiousness is red.

Perfunctory seriousness throughout,
Firm movements, confident steps,
Words spoken softly into my ear,
Eyes of express interest in my flesh,
Distort my thoughts with
Images of our naked bodies entwined.

We make love standing,
Turned toward other people, speaking.
Minds turn upon each other,
Crushing one another
With their weightless gravity.
Infinite yearning, infinite relief.
The sum of all humanity’s lust in his glances.

 

[Hipparchia]

Re: Stuck

the window blinds
are not enough
to hide me from the Sun.
i add my bed sheet to them
to further prevent It
from penetrating into the room.

it is not my fault for having
a room with a window,
nor of the person who
assigned it to me.
but the mistake is the gods’
for making the sun
as it is-
(bright, self-sustaining,
proud, defying,
destructive, happy looking)
-for making it at all.

and it is also the gods’ fault
for making human life as it is
(bitter, lonely, poor, miserable).
and for giving us the Sun’s luster
but the fate of Darkness.

an unusual cat, i prefer to sleep
crawling in the cold
than stretching
in the sun.
cold is my life,
sunny not, though
there is plenty of it.

so i hang my blanket
on the window, too.
naked, i hug my body,
and go to sleep.
in the half-darkness
of my room,
i want to know death
and sleep brings
me closer to it.

i feel my hands
lying over my belly
my pointer inside my navel
(a childhood habit)
and i am dying.

but you do not come near me
to take my hand and kiss it,
to mourn for me.
my fingers are still pretty.
and you would lick them,
if i weren’t dead and
disintegrating,degrading
into a repulsive entity
whose sight scares you,
now.

now you might as well
dump me into the dumpster.
i do not need a traditional burial.
let my grave be inside you—in your body.

 

[bebi]

Re: Stuck

Fillimisht postuar nga Hipparchia:
[qb] Stuck
(reprise)

My trembling hand under his mouth,
The seal of his sensual lips
Deep onto my skull,
A father-like kiss and a sniff of my hair,
He has me say his name,
Then disappears.

I grab his fingerprints
Through my chilled wine glass;
Feel their warmth penetrate my skin,
Black eyes fixed upon my white teeth,
Nocturnal thoughts locked under my skirt.
My anxiousness is red.

Perfunctory seriousness throughout,
Firm movements, confident steps,
Words spoken softly into my ear,
Eyes of express interest in my flesh,
Distort my thoughts with
Images of our naked bodies entwined.

We make love standing,
Turned toward other people, speaking.
Minds turn upon each other,
Crushing one another
With their weightless gravity.
Infinite yearning, infinite relief.
The sum of all humanity’s lust in his glances. [/qb]

I wanted to add a few lines but then i realised that it would just ruin the beautiful skin dress of these lines.
...enjoyed it!

 

[bebi]

Re: Stuck

an unusual cat, i prefer to sleep
crawling in the cold
than stretching
in the sun.
cold is my life,
sunny not, though
there is plenty of it.

so i hang my blanket
on the window, too.
naked, i hug my body,
and go to sleep.
in the half-darkness
of my room,
i want to know death
and sleep brings
me closer to it.

i feel my hands
lying over my belly
my pointer inside my navel
(a childhood habit)
and i am dying.

but you do not come near me
to take my hand and kiss it,
to mourn for me.
my fingers are still pretty.
and you would lick them,
if i weren’t dead and
disintegrating,degrading
into a repulsive entity
whose sight scares you,
now.

now you might as well
dump me into the dumpster.
i do not need a traditional burial.
let my grave be inside you—in your body.

~