When that day arrives…
The one I have been waiting for in a lonely room
With hiked up stockings and a drunk, infatuated cigarette..
My bag , with its insides splintered
And glossy mauve bubbles of a lovebird havingsex and admiringpassionatebeauty
I wonder what it will feel like not rushing out of the bedroom
Right after sex and curtaining my recently feasted-upon body..
Because it moans, that it is possessed.
So I start
Scathing my face with soap until it dissolves in the mirror
And dreaming in the flushing water
Tweaking nipples, asking myself like a haunted tape recorder..
Questions I choose to ignore. The taste of that familiar name I refuse to forget.
His colors that still swagger in my veins, meandering like a mythical snake..
Lolling its tongue, juicing eyes into a vortex.
I see nothing. And no logic and no dialogue.
Words seem stapled on to the cupboard or maybe misted in perfume..
Or tangled up in the windowpanes.
Everything crumbles when I think of belonging or facing a mirror
When the clothes tear down.
But someone told me, the day will arrive soon when these empty seconds
Will suddenly gain meanings and there will no pain. No crying and not my face
Again, rubbed with erased kohl and this impossible longing
Will flower into glorious impatience which women like me..
Have learned to savor and we choose to keep, chunks of it
Always in our mouth.