sheets

Jun 04, 2008 - 17:52 PM PST

And with cold fingers I gently pull him towards me.
Still stutter breathing, gasping, convulsing – you moan lightly.

I imagine delicate, intricately painted teapots and origami paper. I imagine I am in a grocery store, buying Kiwis and mangos. I’m selecting grapes individually. Each goes under inspection before they go in the see-through plastic bag.

Before they are washed in a bowl, before they are chilled in the refrigerator, before they touch my lips; before I swallow.

You interrupt my thoughts with a sloppy careless kiss.
I smile and kiss you back.

“Mmmm…Baby…Welcome to the Lolaverse. Where the beer is always cold and the sheets are always clean…” I giggle. I laugh loudly.

You ask when you can see me again.

I stretch and turn on my side, facing you. I seem to fall asleep, and you stop asking questions. You look at me and I know that I look pretty. I know that my hair is cascading perfectly on my face. I know my lips are slightly pursed and look plump. I know that my breathing is small and light. You will not feel me move restlessly, you will not hear me snore. You will only witness what looks like ‘peace’. And I focus on perfection and illusion. I focus on perfection as illusion. I seem to be asleep.

Before you leave, I give him a number.

After he is gone I sit on my empty bed. I smoke a cigarette and let the ashes fall. There is no breeze in this cream colored, popcorn ceiling box.

I told him my name was Lola, because it is easier to do things when it isn’t you doing them.

To be desired, to be wanted. Well, that’s better than an orgasm – that’s power.