without a title

you are crazy. heavy french accent mixed with tribal languages of the congo river. I spotted him about a week ago, almost immediately. it was three o’clock in the morning. I was sitting at the bar, listening to music, writing. how many times have I heard boys say to me. I can’t pretend anymore that it affects me. my own sobriety magnified the drunkness of people around me. he kept stealing my looks. one by one; the air was filled with indescribable energy. it was a hot summer night but the breeze was there. my writing papers kept flying.

I was drinking my third coffee, chain smoking. writing, filling one page after another, tiny handwriting penned in a dark haze of early morning hours and glow of neon lights. whores outside the window. for some reason I know their names. maria, anna, anna-maria. three sisters; all wearing crosses on their revealed cleavage. red district is a strange part of hong kong but it has always belonged to it. I kept writing. but I knew it would only take a couple of moments before he walked over to my side. you write a lot? I smiled but didn’t answer. I am not comfortable with questions about my writing. I always think of writers who do public readings.

he danced with everybody but me. he made sure he was close enough for me to see him. and I stared at him. I let him see that I am looking. he was looking at me looking at him. our reflections in the mirror looking at each other, our shadows holding hands. siamese twins. his dance moves impressive but shameless. and then she’s always a woman to me. I walked over to him, took him by the waist and whispered, dance with me. he didn’t even think about it. took me to the centre of the dance floor, pressed his sweaty warm body against mine. holding me in his strong but gentle arms. I put my head on his shoulder, breathed in the scent of his neck. he kissed my ear. we barely moved. what are you thinking? he kept asking me, and still does. what are you thinking? I want to know what you are thinking. sunrise washed away our desire and I left him there.

but he waited for me. two three days. then he came for me as I didn’t know where to go. he held my hand as we crossed the road because I was a little more than intoxicated. we sat together, breathing the same air. much later after we changed our locations, I sat close next to him. resting my head against his shoulder. he leaned into me, our heads touching. I want to kiss you. it was beautiful. his large lips, soft skin on the back of his neck, curly thick hair. we didn’t move a lot. eventually he walked with me to get a taxi, and just before closing the door he leaned in and kissed me one more time. today there have been four missed calls.


July 27, 2011