Someone is watching over me.
They glance at me from over my shoulder.
I know not who or where or how they got into this position.
I’m unsure if I am in a predicament that is of a favorable nature. I do not care. The warmth shinning over my skin, from the tips of my fingers into the core of my being, is overwhelming at times yet extremely comforting at others.
You are right here waiting. I close my eyes and open them. The mirror is not showing me what it usually shows me. I see peace. I see comfort. I see freedom.
Lady Godiva on her horse beckons me with her chocolate. And Jack LaLane is there with his juicer, as Mr-T is telling me I should wear lots of gold. He tells me I’m Italian and I need to represent better.
Sorry Mr-T, I like the silver. Just like sorry I don’t make my own turkey sandwiches I can only deal with the ones they make fresh. And just like sorry green grapes and white grapes, I cannot consume you without a guilty conscious. I cannot be you because it rips apart the essence of me.
There is no food left for you in my valley. There is only an empty glass. My kitchen does not have free refills. Your currency smells of Monopoly, like a pigeon took a dump in your top hat and the rats all died on the footsteps of your temple. Bargain by the river she neatly whispers in my ear. So I slowly proceed.
There’s a knock on the door. It is you. Dampened by the rain, you wander into my home. You tiptoe through the alarm system and you reach around me oblivious to the bells and whistles I have set. Foolhardery can be your only saving grace. I wish to save you but then I disconnect. You are not starring at the frightened mouse who crawled into your cheese hole.
Cold swiss cheese morphed into a warmed brie. The vessel appearing entirely the same. Hell appearing before you is wrapped into a red ribbon. But i’m no longer wearing the garb of the devil. I’m naked spread before you. Before all.
No one recognizes. No one can see past the blank. The void. I am void. Everything is expired. Everything is reborn.
As I slowly grab your hand to greet it with a kiss, you pull closer. I pull back. I am taking in the scents of your cheap perfume, the soft feel of your velvet skin. It is too much. I collapse.
I go off into another world. It is easier to stay here, not that your world was so bad. The subway was broken. I didn’t want to get stuck.
But just love me until the next earthquake. Til the next scent of Hugo or Giovanni or Jean Paul or Coco blasts through my furnace of a heart.
No, that was only the one inside the mirror. I blink several times and I see the inner half of the onion.
This could have been pure bliss.
By SpaceDog
