Archive for the ‘fable’ Category
hunger
Would he like anything at all? Would he complain? Would he rather taste her on the table than what she’d served in little bowls? No better way than to find out, she resigned. They ate mostly in silence. She in guilt and forcing herself to look like everything was perfectly normal. He looked like it was.
She lay in bed next to him with her own copy of Rachel Ray’s “Veggie Meals”, planning tomorrow’s experiment while he read “The Taming of the Shrew”. Italian she had decided when she heard him chuckle. Glancing at his profile she smiled to herself thanking her stars that he at least seemed satiated and was enjoying his book more than she was. The ‘You won’t be single for long’ pasta recipe seemed simple. The name however she had to change, to perhaps “you will never be single” or you will be together for long”. There, that should pep that pasta. With that thought, she dozed off to dream of pastas taking vows in front of the leaning tower of Pisa, and partaking of a fine spread of buttered broccoli chunks, roasted peppers and mounds of fresh sweet tasting vanilla ice cream complete with small bits of mango nectar rolled into it. Their first dance was slow and sensual.
The silence of the night marred only by an occasional rumble.
She woke up tired. Her stomach growled fiercely. He was already up and she could smell the coffee downstairs. Perfect, I could eat an elephant, she thought to herself as she sprinted down the stairs. Sleep a distant spot left in a snap.
He had his back towards her. Dressed in shorts and a polo, with his neck bent and humming to himself. Watching him, a hunger rose. Dressed in a white tank, and fleece pants, she felt a shudder down her back. Flipping her hair back and twisting it into a knot with the clasp on the table, she walked up to him. Slowly she let her hands circle his waist and run up his chest. He stopped and laughed, holding her palms down, not letting her touch tickle him.
She rested her head on his back and murmured, “I am hungry.”
He replies “Me too! No idea why, but am starving. Coffee’s ready if you’d like a cup. I am having cereal.” He tries to move away to get some milk. She holds onto him, and snuggles in closer.
“Okay, let go. I need to eat.”
In a swift motion, she swirled around and wedged herself between him and the counter, palms clasped tightly around his waist.
“Yeah?” she asked, petulant and pouting, with her bangs falling across her face, raising herself on her toes and drawing him closer.
Er, an opinion is welcome. I didn’t say everyone who reads this HAS to have an alternate ending. Uff, all you doubt pattanis!
a suitable moment
I dream of a suitable moment.
Of waking up in the crook of your arm, covered only with the scents of the night. To feel the heat simmered down to a warmth in your breath, my feet playing footsie with yours.
I dream of the strong smell of coffee wafting through the door, of the sip that turns to a kiss intoxicating and addicting. The rustle of the paper as we read, the comics, the editorial and do the crossword. Together. To laugh together, to look into each other’s eyes while we argue and debate. To end it all with a twist of the wrist, with a petulant pout giving birth to a sigh.
I dream of a suitable moment, when we can hand wrestle over the coffee table, over strewn books, coffee mugs and pens. Of looking into your eyes and reading the chapters as you struggle in vain to bring me down. Of succumbing to you just so I could be closer and in your hug again.
I dream of walking barefoot in the sand, of picking up shells broken and complete, of holding onto your hand lest the waves take me away. Of feeling the breeze in my curls across my face, and darting through the ringlets wrapped around your fingers.
I dream of writing to you. To place the notes between your waffles, in your wallet, rolled and stuck into the ignition, between the keys of your keyboard. Of seeing your eyes light up in surprise as you read them, the chuckles that follow, and the ones laced with fondness too. Of reading to you my favorite passages, and feel your intent wash over me. Of laying down alongside of you on a bed of words, full of meaning between and within.
I dream of cooking for you. With you on my side, tasting the hotness around me. The spice that matches the heat, the tongue playing a multitude of tunes. Of you to hold my waist, to nuzzle my neck as I measure the salt and the sugar.
I dream of holding you from behind as you lather your chin in the mornings. To finger scribble my name on your back, to climb onto the counter, and to nibble at that hollow of your neck. For you to remind me of the time and hurry me out, to promise me of more nibbles later in the day.
I dream of butterflies in your touch, of embers in your naked gaze, of love in your smile. Of the strength in your arms as you lift me, of the strong embrace as I cry, of the helplessness as I drag myself away.
For now,
I dream of a suitable moment when you will want to sit next to me. Of your undivided attention, of the depth of your want, of the strength of your desire. Of you breaking free your chains, of you being free to be you.
All I dream of is a suitable moment.
I refuse
..to be boxed.
Oh, you are brown
let’s place you here
with the browns.
The corner
works great for your long legs
Can stretch yourself
along with daddy long legs.
You sing?
Beautiful.
Just the perfect little level
A fine part of the chorus you’d make.
It’s convenient
Am sure.
To stay the beaten path.
To not make the effort.
To pay attention to me.
A protest
A scream
Invisible and silent
Hidden behind a window
Serving little purpose.
I am me.
I will always be.
What is that you say?
Weird?
I prefer Unique.
Strange?
I still prefer Unique.
I refuse
To be boxed.
I can stay alone
I can’t be made a clone
I could remain unknown
I refuse
To be boxed.
stupor
Exhausted and barely able to stand, she leans against the counter. Her teeth minty fresh, she changes into her pajamas and loosens her now long hair out of its clasp. Brushes it down a few times, and shuffles over to the bed. Sinking under the covers, she reaches for the jar of cream. Eyes closing, she changes her mind, and shifts onto her side. Tucking the comforter under her chin, she closes her eyes.
She feels the bed shift under his weight. Making room, she turns over. He places his hand over her waist and snuggles in close. Each slip into the other’s curves, a practiced routine. Sleep forcing way into her mind, she resists as he slips his hand under her shirt. Read the rest of this entry »
