Friday, February 04, 2005

Coffee Spoons

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." - T.S. Eliot
For you who should have been here...

The coldness of it pierced her. With hesitant surrender, she suppressed a scream. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. The moment had come. This was it, the point of no return. This time she spread her legs wide and exposed her vulva to him, nulling herself to the cries and warring thoughts within her. As her body relaxed and all tension escaped her, only two things circled in her mind. I love you. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
She felt it enter her and she cringed with the familiarity of the sensation. Not once did she dare to open her eyes as he searched for life deep inside her. Fearing his face, his eyes, the judgement and disgust to be found in their emptiness, the reflection of herself, her soul, to be found in those unwavering black dots. She fled through the night, her mind borne away. Away from the battle raging at her core, away from the dark rendesvouz with sin occring through her, in her, everywhere around her. She flew away to a place she once knew, back to innocence, away to a place where he could not reach her, to a time when she didn't need him to touch her with dread and death.

All too soon it was over. She dressed hurriedly, not being able to leave soon enough. The few pesos taken from a pair of worn jeans exchanged hands and the strangers parted ways in secret, behind dark alleys and shards of broken glass. Alone, she sank to her knees and cried with bitterness for the injustice of life. For freedom, for choice, suddenly so dear, becoming a luxury only for the buorgeoisie. She cried for the filth she would never be able to wash off, groping for a reason and convincing herself that her answer lay in her squalor. She cried and her tears fell immeasurable. She cried, mourning for the stillness inside her and the barreness he had left, for he had taken his prize, blood of her blood, her redemption.

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