Καύλωσέ με! (αν μπορείς…)

ρίξε κάτι επάνω σου...ένα γράμμα, μια συλλαβή

 

 

Tα ερωτικά τραγούδια τα αφιερώνουμε πρωτίστως σ' εμάς που τα αφιερώσαμε.

 

γάμα τη θλίψη / κάψε την ποίηση / πυρωμένη οφείλει να ναι μονάχα η σάρκα / όλα τ' άλλα είναι χάσιμο χρόνου.

 

Fear is a bladed thing-
Sharp and cold,
Sliding over skin
Left pebbled in heated air.

Fear is a creeping thing-
Slipping over spine,
Sinking into bone,
Racing with the blood.

Fear is a dark thing-
Emerging from the shadow,
Stalking from the edge of vision.
Claws dragging over flesh.

Fear is a beautiful thing-
A gift of Panic terror.
A flight of breath
Pursued by racing heart.

Fear is love.

 

Reach for me, now.
Take me in your arms.
Whisper of skin on skin,

Audible Silence.
Flesh.

What is warm, and soft-
What is willing.

Breathe.
Staggering.
Aching.
Expansion of air,

Exhale.
Pull me closer,
Move with me.
If you touch me
I will fall...

Catch me.
Send me soaring.
I will fly as far
As wings of joy
May take me.

When I fall...
And I will fall-
Catch me.

I want you to touch me.

 

There were hands in my hair. I remember that much... Strong fingers sliding through blonde strands, soft and warm and caring. Half asleep from gentle caressing touch; until it wasn't anymore. Fingers gripping at my skull, tugging my head back to look up into dark eyes. Whispered words that were half-growled down at me, my eyes widening in terror as they began to sink in.

Telling me in no uncertain terms what was going to happen to me. Just how much trouble I had managed to get myself into. It did not matter in that moment that I was completely safe. Did not matter that we'd been talking about this for weeks. "Safe" is a distant illusion, broken into a million pieces by a voice, a hand, and two dark eyes.

I feel the cold brush my skin before I even see the glint of metal; hear the blade snapping open. Dragging over my jaw, point running over my pulse and down to the hollow of my throat to press in against delicate skin. Nothing said now, just the sound of breathing in concert harmony. Slow and measured, played against ragged breaths. Two separate pairs of lungs working in time, as my hands claw at the sheets, willing myself still and silent.

I know as well as any how much he likes the screams. How the sound of every loud cry excites and encourages... each new reaction a counterpoint in a symphony he can create without thinking. Action after action, slide of metal, brush of skin... Breathing now, because I know soon enough I may not have that option.

When he pulls away, it's like music has stopped playing. I hear the low soft noise as the knife hits the bed, and it's like a gun going off. I resist the urge to run; to be up and off the bed and through the doorway- it's too late anyway.

When I manage to open my eyes, he's right there. A hand's breadth away from my face, staring down into my eyes like he'd like to eat me alive. That same smile teasing at his lips, eyes dark and fierce. I don't know what words are spoken in between the warning growls... But I hold still anyway.

Every word is a threat, sharp and as curved as the claws he drags over my bare skin. Leaving pale pink lines over ivory skin; drag of bronze metal over flesh that til now was smooth and perfect. Line after line, moving over and over again, until there is almost as much red and pink as there is pale snowy white.

The blade is back again before I know it. Sliding easily over my skin, before it begins to part without warning. Sharp stinging pain as blood rises to the surface. Gathering in little red droplets strung along the cut like rubies on a necklace. Slide of blade, silver serpent dancing through deep snow. Another raised line... another cut.

More blood, more pain, more anguished panting as the tears start to prick at my eyes. Eyes clench tight, turning my head so he will not see what reaction has been provoked. Letting him loose himself in the slow dance, as I succumb to the darkness. It wraps around me like a blanket, heavy and weighted. Holding me down; still and unmoving; though the blade continues to mark up my flesh.

Following the curves of my body, leaving thin red lines of blood pooling in its wake. I can feel the blood start to drip... slipping down over my ribs, wandering down my spine. Surely there is not so much as it feels?

When it stops I almost cannot believe it. But the sharp point of a claw against my back keeps me steady; grounded.

Oh, we're not done yet, boi.... not by a long shot.
Frozen, eyes wide, and beginning to fill in earnest now. Not done...? Not done, when blood has been drawn? I have not gone so far as this in so long.... I thought- I thought wrong, or I have forgotten. My mind races in a panic, trying to recall just what I'd agreed to. Fear clouds the mind, makes it impossible to know. A few more well-chosen words, tangling around with the echoes in my mind... I am lost and I know it. No way up... nothing to do but drown in it.

I can feel the sharpness again, drawn through the blood pooled in the small of my back. A soft hiss of breath, as it lifts away again. I can hear a scratching noise, soft and annoying. Like a fly buzzing around my head or the ceaseless noise of nails on wood. It goes on like that, prick of something sharp, scratching noise, and again...

Until a warm wet cloth is wiping away the blood. Cleaning my shallow wounds that will soon enough close on their own. A piece of paper is settled into my hands when he is through... On it, written some of the most beautiful words I have ever read.

Written by... -rapidly-drying blood-

 

"Le click"

 

 

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