thecheekypoetess

[thecheekypoetess]

[thecheekypoetess]

Dead Man Living

Stop haunting me.

A 6 foot figure, the colour of shadows on a cloudy Sunday afternoon sits on the chair facing me as I think of what to write. Erasing. And glares, and glares, and glares. 

I look up, he disappears. This is not paranormal. This is imagination. I am not thinking of what I’m going to write, I am thinking of him. Talk to me, I tell the wall behind his imaginary head as if there really is someone in front of me. I know you’re here. I know he isn't.

I can feel him behind me, smiling. Behind my back, where I can't look at him. At the back of my mind, where I can't get hold of him. 

He comes and goes like hours. I see him everywhere, yet he is nowhere near me. He is material which is far away, and closest, in my imagination. Living his own life. 

I feel his presence when I go out alone. An energy of protection. He is gentility, goosebumps and sweet little nothings that the breeze whispers in your ear on warm June nights. He is dimples, wells in his cheeks that are flowing and dripping with humour and wit which makes you want him more. He is his aroma, as if all the perfumes in Arabia swirl around his body as he approaches you before you take him in. 

He is angelic, eyes full of galaxies that consist of stars of the zodiac and planets which rule them, which twinkle in his eyes and his teeth as he grins at you whilst exchanging a flirty comment which you reflect and recognize at home, when you're caressing your cheek where he kissed you goodnight. He is a pair of strong, soft hands which exude electricity as they run over you. He is his tongue in his cheek when he says something under his breath, he is his tongue in your cheek after you have let him get away with it. 

He is old love songs that he sings for your entertainment as he drives and chuckles on sunny days whilst you stare at him and admire his gorgeous face with his black sunglasses on. He is records that you watch in silence, with each spin a new, crackling melody.  

He is pride you get when you talk about him with your friends, noticing how he's better than their lovers. He is your red cheeks, the ones you get telling them how he makes you feel. He is the burning flame that runs within you when you see other girls touching his arm and laughing at the meaningless jokes that are usually directed at you. 

He is the six sets of heartbeats that you get when he looks at you in a crowd. He is honey on his tongue, as he explains to you and teaches you what he loves, with all his patience. He is the lips that taste like Heaven, those that quench your thirst in warm weather, and those that heat you up in cold weather, for their burning passion. He is intensity, and yet he is never enough for you. 

He is paradise. 

He is the songs on the radio in your room that you listen to at midnight, requested by people who are up as late as you are, alone, hearts full of solitude, whilst you slide on your silk dresses and dance to the song your lover had said reminds him of you- as if he's in the doorway, forearm on the door frame, wrist over his head, gazing. He is silence, he is peace, he is sensual, he is intimacy, exoticism all wrapped up in one. 

He is his eyes which settle on your lips as you read to him your poetry. 'Is it about me?' he teases before you start. 'They all are.' You say. 

[thecheekypoetess]

@vanellimelli

[thecheekypoetess]

On Insomnia & L(ust)ove

I breathe, I breathe, I breathe, I breathe, I stop. Breathe again. inhale, exhale without the calmness. multiple things are on my mind. 

A scene. 'You will never be in my heart, as I am in yours.' I hear myself saying. 'And if you are, then open the door! You might as well let everyone else in.' I muster, green with fury. He stares, wide eyed, eyes the colour of hell. It is only his eyes that I see. 

Two arms. My hips, my waist, and a million more places, to go, to be. I sigh. It was just a dream. Because he is right next to me, asleep and dreaming dreams of his own, peacefully. Of me, perhaps, as mine are of him, in another universe. Parallel, but different.

I close my eyes again, and try to imagine our lives together. I use my imagination to cover the bad episodes. The sex, the sex must be good. I try to sense it. How his fingers and my body react. Like sun and skin, he makes me feel warm. Like chocolate in your pocket on a hot, sunny day. He melts me. 

'Your heart is so cold,' he yells, frustrated, 'how do I love someone who cannot love me? Me..' He stops. Comes closer. 'Me,' he repeats softly, 'why can't you love me?'. This has happened before, and I cannot figure out when.

My eyes open. I cannot sleep. But my body can. I cannot move, my muscles feel paralysed, as if in a trance, a suspension in motion. I feel hell crawling up from under me. It is embodied by an old woman's voice, where have I heard it before? She is coming for me. She is coming. Slowly but soon. It's so hot in here. Sweat trickles down my face and I do not have the energy to wipe it off. 

I scream for help in the loudest pitch of fright. But I cannot open my mouth. It is just my voice bouncing off the walls of my mind into my imagination. I have no contact with anyone. How do I help myself? 'Because who can help others if they can't help themselves, right?'  I smile to a patient, 'I need you to stay calm. You know how to love. You just do not show it.'

How do I feel paralysed but have the energy to breathe? I try to increase my breathing rate. Maybe he'll notice the uneasiness in my pace. Maybe that will wake him up. He snores.

I close my eyes out of fatigue. I am brought to a room full of sunlight peaking through sheer curtains. I am in someone's arms on a couch, facing the windows. I could hear myself saying: "I know why I feel happy. 'Cause this is a dream. If it were true I would not feel this good. Reality is scary. Reality is not me. Reality is not how I truly feel.' 

I could feel him cup my face with one hand and hover over my waist, eventually touching my skin with the other. This felt so good. 'You feel so warm. Don't move.' I heard myself saying to him. And because it was a dream I did not need to look at him to feel that he was smiling. My field of view was not of him but how he felt against me, warm, tender and full of admiration, felt more clear.

I adjusted myself and how I lay on him and I felt him move. 'You feel so warm.' I repeated. 'I have to go.' He said, in the midst of silence. To my surprise, I let him.

He dropped me to the floor and ran to a door, and as soon as I bumped onto the hard, cold marble I staggered up, and immediately went to follow him. As I ran after him I could feel this dream blur away, and I started missing it immediately. I started to miss him immediately. How he made me feel. 

But this felt like giving a caged bird food for energy that it will not use. You can feed it, but only to exist, rather than to live. And so I reflected. He makes me feel good, momentarily. I talked to myself in the darkness that lay between my own eyes and the paralysed world outside. 

But he was not made for me. I am afraid of him, as he is of me. We are strangers who know each other's bodies more than we know each other's souls.

I tried to imagine how I wanted the dream to end up, but these false conclusions to this imaginary dream felt too artificial. I did not see him, that person in the dream again. Or felt him. His touch felt so soft. His caress too tender.

I lay on the bed, lean like meat. Unable to move, like a living corpse, buried alive. There would be no differences between this man laying on the bed with me and a tired burglar. We would all be laying in burning silence. I felt nothing for both, and could do nothing for both. For now, I feel, the bird has starved itself, just to die. 

[thecheekypoetess]

Star-Crossed Lovers.

Tonight I watched from my window the darkest of nights where the breeze blew over the twinkling stars and the hovering clouds and the shining moon and the crickets’ song, below my window, sang. ‘Behold, the moon and all its shines all in the dark, as if in mines it is the night for love to roam for all of those who are alone like, star-crossed lovers who are apart who are so different not in their heart. Who bear same future even though afar but are protected by the same star. Who send winds of love over oceans so strong, it is each other’s that they belong.’ ‘I know,’ I hummed, ‘that you’re asleep, but faith it is, that I shall keep. We are star-crossed lovers you and I not by our families, but by our sky.’

[thecheekypoetess]

Basic Instinct (1992)

[thecheekypoetess]

Too Long.

"You know.. I have champagne in my room.."  He looked at me in surprise for a moment, and put on a sly face. 'Bet.'  

"Pick truth pick truth pick truth.."                                                                  'Dare.'                                                                                                                "You shouldn't have done that."                                                                                    

I leaned in his personal bubble, touched his chin with my index finger and looked in his eyes, mouth open. For a moment it was only our eyes, mouths, heavy breaths, and the magnetic feel of attraction. I felt naked in front of him. He was examining every inch of me. 

"I loooove...-" I whispered, and as I felt him prepare for a kiss, leaning in ever so slowly, I came back to my senses for a moment, then leaned back.                    

"- challenges." He looked bummed. I was too. Nevertheless, he continued as if the champagne actions hadn't just unfolded in front of him. 

"Kiss me." It takes two to tango.                                                                                 

"What?“  "You heard me. Kiss me."   It was so easy, so I leaned in. He stopped me.   "... After you listen to a song. What's the rush for? We're gonna be here all night." 

Our noses still touching each other, he sighed. His hot breath of champagne entered me, and I was no longer in a hotel room playing drunk truth or dare with him anymore. 

'A song?' 'A song.' He nodded, grinning. 'What song?'                                              He looked at me for a little while before he got up to put on a song on the TV. Glaring, one brow shot up; tongue in cheek, his way of thinking externally.                                        "I hope the first song you find is the longest song recorded by the Guinness world record", I too proudly said, trying to hide my vulnerability when he was around. He stood hands across in front of the TV, surfing TV channels for any stations playing songs at 3 in the morning.                                               

"I don't know, Sugar.. I don't want to keep you waiting too long. I know you've been trying to kiss me all night." He called me Sugar.                                    'Me?' I chuckled. 'You're the one who wants me to kiss you.'                           Silence. Or as Shakespeare would say, halt.  He leaned against the wall, hands still across, remote control in hand, channel surfing. The never ending channel list shined on his face as he scrolled up and down, trying to find the perfect channel. The breeze blew and the curtains bellied and danced. Belly danced.   I examined the curtains and somehow admired them. They went up, and down, up, down, up. A peak of gold appeared within their soft sheer. I rushed to the balcony, leaving him behind. Outside, everything was still, but the breeze still puckered her lips and blew softly. As I felt my first breeze outside, I looked up.  The Eiffel Tower; golden as ever, contrasting the devilish night, looked angelic. It gleamed at me, almost winking. I felt so astonished, that I could not feel myself existing. My sight became my primary sense. Time stood still.              Yet records played, fresh coffee from nearby cafés steamed, new couples fell in love, the moonlight smiled, he.. was nowhere to be found.  'Come here,' I called out to him, staring wide eyed at the glamorous, gold building. No answer. The channel list must be too long.                  He had wanted my lips ever since he set his eyes on me. This was his only opportunity for him to have me for his own. Just for one night. Just tonight. My full body still remained motionless and unblinking, not bothering to repeat myself.  Then, I feel two warm hands at my waist, and hot breath on my neck, kissing me tenderly, leaving a damp line from my shoulder to my ears. I am brought back to earth. I am warm and alive and feeling. I do not turn for I already know how he tastes. My body recognizes him, for it knows his lips. And I do not frighten, for I know that he is mine, and I, like a bird in open air that knows its way, know that I belong to him. I have waited for this too long. "Welcome to Paris." He says in my ear, grasping at me, filling his palms with parts of me. I turn around to look at him, and as I did, the TV played; La Vie en Rose. 

[thecheekypoetess]

[thecheekypoetess]

Vincent Cassel and Monica Bellucci in L’Apartement (1996) dir Gilles Mimouni

[thecheekypoetess]

New York, 1982.

[thecheekypoetess]

Honeywater

I think of him too much. He's always teasing me in my mind, and I'm always running away from him but this eventually leads to him. It's his fault that I do not feel right. 

This is like honey water. Is it tasteless? Is it sweet? Is it nutritive? Am I supposed to like it? The more I drink of it, the more I thirst. The more I thirst, the more I drink. It ruins me. He ruins me. So I light a candle and I strip in front of it, my thoughts. I want to burn him away. The vinyl spins in the background as the crimson lady dances against the black gas, mocking me. I cannot sleep anymore so I lay against the delicate sofa, and it takes me in. The flame straightens, stiffens. I close my eyes. His shadow flashes, like lightening in the dark. I shriek. My hands grip the sofa arm. This is the closest I will get to consolation. I want to open my eyes, but it's honey water. Is he honey or water? My eyes open wide, traumatized. The singer hits notes with his voice which I have heard before. The window is open, and the careless curtains allow the breeze to break in to touch me. I am dragged to the devils' heaven, and angels' hell. A place where I can hear two melodious voices laughing, talking, whispering, intertwining. My eyes shut again in desire. I can see clearer, I am living again, I can feel my head resting against a bone, a clavicle, and my face brushing against a soft cheek which keeps moving, moving, it never stops, and I am not tired of it.

The breeze faints upon my hands, and a gush of wind pushes the curtains which dance to this. My gaze drifts and I catch the eyes of the beholder, warm, toxic, welcoming. The angel in disguise. The cunning con artist. I can hear the candle's flame infuriate itself. It shifts left to right, afraid, and the breeze taunts it, chanting to the entrapped flame, 'You're so almighty. You change lives. I am able to destroy yours.' I do not care. The scene has changed by now, 'I love you, I love you' he's whispering in lust. He plants these kisses on my neck but they burn. His venom enters my veins, but I run on poison. Right? I do. I can be as evil as him. I am not a lamb. I am a bee. I thirst over honey water. I sting. 

I want more and I keep pressing my eyes together; if I could live on watching these scenes, I would die happily intoxicated. But the telephone disrupts me, demanding. The scene does not change and I find no excuse. I succumb. I rush to the phone. It's him and I had been waiting. But something feels different. 

At the corner of my eye, the teasing breeze has defeated the dancing flame.

[thecheekypoetess]

Midnight Masquerade Madness

The sign reads "NO MASKS OFF.", decorated and lit up. And as I wonder what this night has in store for me, my feet curl in my shoes, and I click my way to the entrance putting my mask on, watching everyone's face fade.

I make my way in. Couples are dancing- half strangers. I wonder about the contrast of number between the amount of smiles I see behind masks and those outside. Why are masked people so happy?

I adore the independence. Everyone is so nakedly individual. Rank, race, even age is ignored and hidden by a simple mask. The words you use build up your beauty; emotion is only recognized by one's voice tone. It's how life should be, but it's not. So why not live it, even temporarily? The wave of different shaped masks, different colored dresses and tuxedos complimented by the band in the background situated on the stage beautified the atmosphere. Word was that this Masquerade was supposed to win best Masquerade of the year; the organizers really worked hard for this. It was being held at the Crystal Palace.

Chandeliers danced on the painted ceilings, mysteriously lit stairs lay at the corners of the venue, leading to the balconies of the place. The place was large, and yet I did not know where to go.  It imitated Heaven, with masked angels; the ambient was too positive.. with demons lurking around. 

I feel two warm swipes at the back of my neck and I turn around, realizing I'd have to look much further up. A white, simple, black lined mask at the eyes covering only half the face with two big pools of honey at the eye holes looking down at me results. The smile accompanying is bright, and the hair, brown and wavy, neatly cut at the edges and a curl on the stranger's temple, teasing me from a distance. Fingers descending to my spine due to my backless dress, the stranger begins. 

"Pardon me, but what is a beautiful being like you doing alone in the middle of a dance floor like this?"                                                                              "Depends who's asking." I say.  Now that my face is hidden I can act however I want without consequences. The stranger is no longer far as he lowers a bit- in a deep, serious tone he asks, "Are you trying to make me take my mask off? Because I would."                  "Are you man enough?" Challenges were always my thing. This either intrigues them or flies them away. Never both.                                                                  "That would make you win, and I never lose. Care to dance?"                            I liked this immediately, whatever introduction it was. Certainly not a common approach; my favourite. 

He slides his hands on mine lazily, grabs them and leads me nearer to the dancing couples, I was part of them now. As soon as he put his hands on my waist and started an unknown dance routine, we were. Eventually, I put my hands around his neck, touching his skin and carefully lining his tight jawline with my forehand. 

He was a great dancer, but so am I. At some point we ended up in the middle and people pointed at us and chattered, spread rumors about us. Somewhere along the lines of: 'They know each other' and 'They cheated because this was planned!'. We both heard them and grinned at each other silently, like two daredevils. He had this way of making 'bad'-occurring fun. I sensed there was something. If we looked like we knew each other then it meant that it was obvious that there was chemistry. This is what drove the crowd wild. His body felt good beneath my hands, and I wasn't going to let an opportunity like this slip away just because of crowd jealousy. 

The piano notes boomed on the walls and waltzed with us to the cornered, mysteriously lit stairs. Smoothly stopping us. Drunk off nothing, I murmured whilst leaning on the wall, 'You're another type. You're something else, darling." "I thought we established I'm honey?" I giggled and relaxed my head on the wall, wanting to freeze time.                                                                                  "You're more of a rose. Prickly and pretty." I corrected, looking at the ceiling and smiling slyly.                                                                                                    "How can you be so sure what's behind this mask?"                                            "I don't have to be." I hissed like a taunting, toxic serpent. This attracted him closer, one hand on the wall above me, our bodies closer to touching, and his minty smell caressing my nostrils.                                      "I've been waiting for something different." I almost whisper in his face, which wasn't his face at all. Silence as he ran his eyes over me. 

The instruments outside were singing in unison. I watched him watching me, it could've been a painting. The loveliest painting of all.                                      "Go on." He shoots. "There's nothing to say. What is there to do?"                      He looked around, then at me again, hesitated, looked at my lips and sighed at the sight of them. It didn't sound like a sigh of joy or relief, but of insatiability of desire. He ran his hands over his face, removing what was hiding half of his face. He looked godly, and I leaned in to kiss him. This was the least I could do. He leans away.                                        "I was asking." He mutters through a smirk.  Sniggering to himself, he prepares to leave, putting his mask on. I glared at him. "Well, wait," I begged, glued to the wall. He looked back at me, raising his brow up inquisitively. I froze as he sent over this stern look, the kind that makes me feel like rocks and stones- unmoving. "Oh." He says as if he has remembered something. He comes back, closer, and his soft lips brush my cheek with a certain roughness. I let a gasp escape me. What did I do wrong?

"Stay.." I say out loud. I never beg.                                                                  "I'm no good if I stay, angel." He whispers behind my ear.                        "But, you're so good."                                                                                      "Jack of all trades," I hear, ".. master of none." He's in my sight now, smirking down at me, mighty, powerful, but unable. There was no point in playing cool now, he has me under his trap, like he's figured me out. And as him and his shadow diminish away from me, I am clueless of my actions. I do not cry for him like a baby, and my heart does not break, for I'm sure that with him it'll be safer than within me. 

[thecheekypoetess]

Secret Recipe

The unexpected happened. My secret was out, and my vulnerability levels increased with my heart beat as I walked towards the hotel's door. A hurricane of thoughts explored my mind. What had I done? I had already forgotten everything, what was his name again? Mark, Elliot, Paul? No. All I remembered was his face when we had met once; a short business meeting. 

"Well, my muses are all that is around us, the harbour, the breeze, the silence.. and little people around.." I had hinted. He smiled to himself.  "We must meet again," he looked in my eyes, paused for a moment, and he continued, "you give things such a mystical feature. I love it." To this, I nodded. His smile curved at one side of his face and bit his lip for a moment as if to stop himself from saying the next thing that came to his mind. “It's a date."

The sweetness of the memory boosted up my confidence. This guy dared to pursue me, and I liked how he liked challenges. I looked at the mirrored door, pressed my lips together to enhance my red lipstick and admired my radiant red hair. I enter. The beautiful lights welcome me silently by beaming. The lobby is oddly silent, and the receptionist’s desk is empty. The hotel looked haunted. However, the two circling stairs coming out of a movie, called me to wander, and I non-hesitantly accepted. 

My red, glittery dress trailed behind me as I made my way to the stairs, and as I reached my destination, I ascended my heeled foot to step upon the red carpet flowing on the stairs. The gloves hugging my hands grab the obstacle cloth and I begin to make my way upstairs. The silence is broken. I hear deep voices laughing in such a loud manner contrasting the amount of silence previously present. As I rest a foot on the penultimate step of the stairs, two sly, slender figures appear. 

I look for the eyes of the two creatures and discover that one of them is the one I’m looking for. Searching for words as he notices me and comes to me, he asks, “You know how to sing, right?” My smile declined. I muttered a “What? I-.. Yes.” To this his frown disappeared, and his companion descended the stairs, rushing.  “Follow me.” he said, trailing behind his friend who had already reached the lobby by now. Wanting to scold him for not showing any reaction towards me but noticing that this would not be a reaction that would match my outfit and the setting, I followed timidly. 

I struggled to rush myself to get to the runner, who sped before me through doors, small rooms, arches and, oh.. A ballroom. Casual crowds stared blankly at me, and I stood there behind the one who I figured out wanted me to do something.  My eyes wandered around the dimly lit room, with a perimeter of clear windows looking out upon one of the world’s most beautiful harbours, crowned with a fortress of a similar prestige. 

I looked up at the slender figure looking down at me and as he met my eyes, he nodded, ordering me to go to the stage as if I knew what was happening. ”Go on.” I obeyed, to my own surprise. 

As I got on the stage, the spotlight sizzled on my skin, and I felt heads turning to capture my every move, these all felt heavy on my physique. The bass and the piano harmonized with no singer. I sought everyone as my enemy, especially him; but it takes two to tango. 

“Why don’t you do right, Mr.” I demanded to the piano player. “No, I-, we-,” he mumbled. “Go on.” I requested apathetically. He raised a brow at me whilst rearranging his hat and looked at his crew, shrugging. I shared my smuggest pose with the curious crowd, waiting for the piano to stroke my shaking larynx into some alien confidence.

The instruments played, and my days of lonely karaoke summed up into this striking performance. As my voice reached it’s most beautiful highs and lows, I looked at him, further away, talking and grinning at a waitress with his hands across his chest, ignoring his environment. This did not discourage me; as I did not capture his attention but plenty of others’, hearts even. 

The song ended and his attention returned as he smiled away his companion, eyes directing me. I slyly bowed to the crowd on its feet clapping and whistling, teasing him indirectly; his weakness. 

I could not resist the love I was receiving, and as I strolled around the stage, I returned my gaze to his spot. He had disappeared, and reappeared again at my second gaze, the stage’s stairs, stretching a hand out for me like a gentleman would to help a lady down. The band decorated my descent, which included me blowing kisses to everyone. 

“There...” His gentle, deep voice calmed me, “Let’s go on.” My hands still in his, he led me into another door which was guarded by a man looking me up and down, offended by my presence.  “She’s with me.” my companion tiredly claimed. The obstacle half smiled at his boss and moved. As we moved in front of him I felt the two forces acting upon me. The guard’s glare and the companion’s pull. I only trusted one; that which brought me to a terrace which exhibited my muse. He remembered. 

“The harbour.. The breeze, the silence,” his masculine voice began, and hesitated.  “The little people around..” I hinted. He sent an indifferent smile at me, and looked away, admiring other places. I awaited for a physical response for a few seconds. This was never received. Disappointedly, I looked away to mirror him. The silence had already cut off my tongue and despite the ambient, the atmosphere felt dreadful.

[thecheekypoetess]

Venus

Eyes gleaming, voice deep, cheek dimples peeking, and lips rosy, and.. oh, so kissable. I can’t stop staring. I feel

tightening around my waist as I rest on a rocky base facing love’s dilemma, tired of my own intense admiration. My feet move to the song and not the rhythm. As I am pulled back from my favourite view, I meet two brown snakes hissing at me, not excusing my timid smile for permission to continue my daydream. They collapse me into reality. 

The copper balls of fury demand my attention, and I fake my response by trying to paint, like always, emerald across them, with flowing words whispered into my mind by my favourite voice. However, such emerald is unavailable. The seller is only a few meters away, giving cheeky looks, talking, pleasing.. teasing. I relax

as the snakes hide their venomous tongues, and I find my place once again, adoring from afar. The masterpiece never stops interacting, yet the diamonds underneath his shot up brows and long eyelashes meet my innocent crystals, which never hesitate. Our eyes 

lock us in a room, with thousands of people who are touching their companions freely and are not limited of each other’s words. I still feel electricity from afar. Eye contact is the only chance for my imagination to expand by envisioning my senses exploring his tender, protective skin around me, and feeling his warm, serene heart beat against my shy hide. My eyes do not tire themselves, but my poor breath. 

Serpents encircle my throat. As I lay there mirroring the motionless figure who my eyes feasted upon, the insistence for my physical presence grew larger, and I succumbed. As I was drawn back once again, the devil’s eyes and his burning hands scolded me for having a greater passion but show less than I am supposed to. The speaker is unaware of the term ‘love’. 

I hear a familiar voice and my head automatically turns to the desired spot of commencement. I see him, face unmoved, muscles tense, and jaw clenched, coming for my rescue, with an unfortunate difference. The further he approached, the further tears fogged my vision.

I awaken, sobbing. His body lies at my waist, motionlessly. His position strikes my admiration, and I lie there next to him, sobbing for him, my tears jumping at the opportunity to slide on his restful face; restful from my large affinity for him. My hands use this opportunity to touch his godly face, and adoringly stroke it, calming myself as his tired eyes smile at me, on our bed.  

[thecheekypoetess]

Sinner Fling

The bass kissed my ears and the lyrics caressed my thoughts. However this was all for nothing. There was no way my path was ever going to change.

I had given part of my heart to the culprit a long time ago. There was no reach out or response ever since. Though, I still knew he was there. I could feel his eyes try to analyse my actions. It scared me, but I loved it. Art evoked in me this adrenaline rush within my body due to it being his love as well. The thought of being cared of, or protected covertly, helped my ego boost up, which led this monster within my soul escape. 

I started taking everything for granted one season, after but an exchange of words. His manner was so sweet, I took advantage of it; and devoured it like a lion would his prey; A quick tear, a gulp, and a happy stomach... But a few hours later, its stomach would still growl and its body would undergo this infinite hunger and desire for food. The cycle would go on again; and it resembled mine. Love is episodic, and sometimes, so, so instrumental; but at least, conducive to the well being. Forget my philosophy. 

But like a whole meal tires the common organism and the celebration of the abundance of food, I felt the need for a break. Heading out, I checked my phone for the last time. No messages read; an irony. I challenged this.  You poor thing.  As I arrived to my destination, I saw the moon in the sky beaming at me. I’ll be here, he muttered. And then the saxophone sang, and the keyboard rang, and the drums banged. 

I roamed the streets to find my companions. Loneliness scared me, and yet I felt eyes search me everywhere. I was the center of attention somewhere. The dim lights did not show all the faces surrounding my presence, but the wind searched through everyone’s hair, and in my face, removing the locks in front of my eyes. My view excelled.

In the dimly lit street, an earring amongst a crowd of people drinking, laughing and dancing winked at me, and obligated that I’d pass it. As I walked by its owner, who stood near his friends joking, putting on his cheekiest face and his most cunning smile on, I recognized this person.  It was my heart’s robber. His smell ran to my nostrils and I smiled to myself, he wore my favourite perfume tonight. As I approached him, I stared, longing for his face again. 

His hair, still being moved by the wind and relaxing by gravity, curliest as always, but slick at the sides, mimicking two Elvis Presley curls on his temple with a chance that my fingerprints awaited there, patiently, knowing I’d come back. As he noticed a familiar face, he stopped, and his friends knew not the reason until they looked in the direction at which he stared in; mine. His eyes exhibited electricity.

I blushed and continued my wander. I thought heavily of him and the feel of his body which I hoped would never fade away from my skin’s memory. He looked at best tonight. I saw my friends. 

The dance floor did not feel the same anymore. We used to be two halves making up one body, and the others, like butterflies, decorated us and the atmosphere. God knows how many nights we danced away, gazing, entertaining, touching. 

However, this was my realization, for the loss of time searching for another half.  I am not a half. I do not depend on anyone but myself. 

[thecheekypoetess]

Dedicated.

I smile to myself in the mirror, hoping you’d see me, somewhere, somehow, how forced. My silky blouse feels like a sharp blade against my pale skin; your touch would be smoother. Your smile oh so dreamy, your eyes oh so bright, and the way they move and trace me, like the pathway to heaven.

I put on your favourite perfume, and head out, looking at the sky. The clouds are so lucky to see you everyday from up there, they tire because of the winds blowing them away, depriving them from you, but I never do. I could stare at you for days, months, years... ever.  

But as I arrive to the crowds, I hope your golden face with that delicious honey- tongue meets my painted face and my gleaming eyes which have lost many men but never you. Yet you never show up, despite my secret search for you, which has never bothered my friends, cringes me, but pleases my soul, like your eyes twinkling please my heart.  

I’m so in love with you. I think of you too much. Your name has popped up in my head more than you have written it on any paper in your life; more than your friends have ever said it, and you have a lot of them. 

“Let’s go in, there are less crowds in this pub.” my fed up friend suggests. And I accept, after looking for you everywhere, maybe you ought to be in there, in that white button up shirt I used to love so much upon your slim body and that fixed brown hair, gleaming in the light, drumming on tables or any given surface, laughing and exhibiting your formed, sharp jawline, eyes lit up. 

I’d love to imagine you were in there, and as I’d walk in you’d stare for a split second, and our eyes would finally meet, and we’d hear each other’s echoing minds. Mine echoing you, and yours.. holding tight a mistress, and smiling a careless whisper in her ear by midnight, placing your cold bracelets on her skin, which warms not for your sometimes croaky voice, my most favourite sound.

[thecheekypoetess]

Read a thousand books, and your words will flow like a river.

Lisa See, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan (via books-n-quotes)