night swim

in the fluid darkness
beneath the waves of bedclothes
      and flotsam
she dips slowly in
her hands leading her
in search of a pearl
on the sea-bed

drifting lazily along my currents
her searching fingers blindly exploring
      unseen crannies
her tongue seeking and tasting salt
forming new surges in my body
      of water
as she dives deeper down

she coaxes tremendous swells
and i break through the surface tension
surging high over her
but her warm mouth drinks fearlessly
      from me
and i wash over her shoulder
as harmless helpless foam

then
as effortlessly as a frolicking
      mermaid
with gentle strokes she submerges
diving deeper than before

she finds on the sea-bed
a pair of lips awaits her
      kiss
gasping like an anemone

gently she teases them apart
finds within iridescent walls
      the pearl

and how she kisses and tastes and
kisses and tastes and
kisses some more

i become a whirlpool
swirling wilder and wilder
and she is right in the vortex
at the core of me

i swell and surge
barrel and break
into a towering tsunami
then
      oh
flooding everywhere
everything

and how beautiful she looks
when she surfaces
hair dripping
face glistening

hot

petite but potent
my Chihli Padi
sends spicy texts

some about memories
some about fantasies
some about promises

as i blush
sometimes in remembrance

all around me -
as i imagine
and i anticipate -
suddenly turns sultry

and i'm soaked

right
down



there

my baby doesn't

my baby doesn't let me kiss her
in public - "i don't do PDA's"
she tells me, adding,
"=( i'm sorry"

i tell her it's okay
i'll get used to it
but i wish i didn't have to
make sure we are alone
before i'm allowed to kiss her
and embrace her and i wonder
why she doesn't want our
love to be public

more than shyness is she
perhaps ashamed of us?
(i hope not - i don't think
 i'll ever want to get used to
 that)

or maybe she worries about the
jealous eyes and the envious ones
doesn't want them casting
the evil eye on our pure
and innocent little world

which is all that her arms
and mine emcompass
when we hold each other close
it is our little world
and very very private

i don't let go and
my baby doesn't

vulnerable

i stand before you
take off my clothing
piece by piece
you see my imperfect body
bared to you
its scars and bruises and freckles
stretch marks and moles
not at all vulnerable

i tear open my chest
reveal my pumping heart
in the bloody gaping wound
peel off the suit of my skin
nerves and muscles
nothing
i stand before you
bared
not at all vulnerable

but your knowledge of the invisible
scars and bruises
old wounds scabbed over
scabby wounds unhealed
you see them all
you know where to kick and scratch
and you do
you want nothing of me
take nothing with you when you leave
you see the tears i hide
you cultivate and harvest them
to crush into a sour wine
you later throw into my face
and you laugh
and you laugh

even though i am not prostrated
by your feet
even though i do not beg or plea
i am vulnerable then



7^th February 2007
(edited 24^th July 2008)

Even Shorter Really Short Short Stories: The Scraped Scenes From Shakespeare Series

or
The To Be Or Not To Be Series
or
The One Monologue Fits All Series
or
The Misplaced Monologue Series
or
The Same Old Soliloquy Series



IJuliet wakes up in the tomb and finds Romeo sprawled across her bosom. She spots an empty vial in his hand and immediately (and correctly) deduces what has happened. She takes Romeo's dagger and positions it at her breast, saying, "Oh happy dagger – to be or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler ..."

But before she could finish her existential ramble, the Friar enters the tomb ...

Then the Capulets ...

Then the Montagues ...

Thus the feud does not end. Juliet takes the veil and spends the rest of her life contemplating, "To be or not to be ..."



IIOthello is torn deciding whether or not to kill Desdemona: On one hand, he is unable to disbelieve Iago; on the other, he cannot completely believe his beloved wife.

With the pillow poised, Othello begins, "To be or not to be ..."

Halfway through, Emillia (who happens in on the scene) goes mad from the tediousness of Othello's meditation, and Desdemona, to keep from screaming out loud from boredom, claps her hands over her mouth, and eventually smothers herself to death.



IIICaesar happens upon a secret gathering of members of his senate, and, to his horror, realizes they are all wannabe-actors, and all of them have chosen Hamlet's monologue for their audition. As the lot of them begins to murmur in one voice, "To be or not to be ...", Caesar lets slip a tortured groan, and is thus found out.

To prevent Caesar from letting the cat out of the bag, they decide to stab him to death. When Caesar sees his pal Brutus, who is the last in line to stab him, in scandalized disappointment with his dying breath, he utters, "Et tu, Brute – an actor?!"



IVMacbeth deliberates over Lady Macbeth's suggestion to vanquish Banquo to fulfill the witches' prophesy.

"To be or not to be ..." he begins, and the ghost of the dead king of Denmark whispers, offstage, "Wrong play, asshole ..."



VHamlet forgets.



Fin.

namely

my baby lies over the ocean
her pillow talk echoes in my ear
she calls to me my sibilant adjectival name
given at birth
but more often the several pet names
she has conferred on me
and with the breath of every murmur
she breathes life anew in me
and with the evocation of every sobriquet
she lays claim to me
inscribes upon me an/other identity
forges a bridge of history
with which our two lives are bound

come name me, baby
my captor and liberator
call me, namely,
yours

smile

i miss so much to feel
the warmth of your body next to mine
the smile our bodies made on the bed
(the one i wore)
as we drifted off to sleep

alone in my bed
there is no smile to be found
only - perhaps -
a little forlorn frown
i make by my lonesome self