For most part of the days attachment feels too loud a deal
for someone who had learnt to stomach the laborious quarantine cruising in blood
since infancy. I never fought for rainbows. I was tickled even with petite
chunk of grey. The only lullaby I slept to was never the whispers of heartbeats
of someone else. My solace rested elegantly in the whist of my breaths. My hands
craved to stuff the territory between my fingers, until it was no longer an
enclave I wished to replenish. Indifference jacketed the vacuity in a way which
could hardly be bottled by ink on the pages that laid like cipher till the
first ray of sunlight flickered on the closed windows of my snoozing rib-cage. The curves on my face don’t owe anything to
anyone except for those stars that lingered around on the achromatic nights. My limbs
don’t stretch around anymore to get hold of anyone else. I no longer yearn for
the warmth radiated from being enveloped in hug. I have been in love with the
placidity strolling in my veins. The bliss of seclusion jamming the pores with
in my bathing suit on the fourth floor by the pool… while moments ago, in the harsh light of the bathroom i gave myself a solid b- which isn’t bad considering the mileage, the extra baggage, not quite the package i once was…
the water shimmers in the sunlight the wind teases my skin and the rays of light create non-colored brightness on my thighs,who sees me; i am only as visible as the un-chlorinated water, completely see-thru without that cast of blue i am a cipher.
only worthy of a glance eyes bouncing from my solid b- to all the t & a of the a-’s, a’s and a++’s with a little help from silicon valley. their flesh deeply tanned, their tits like monuments to the momentas they defy gravity while they lie supine on their backs.
the men from balding middle ages to the tall teenagers have roving eyes that seem to bounce from ba-donka-donk to d-cups to supple thighs with sighs just behind their lips not-so subtle in their visual gymnastics, mouths slightly spastic as they skim over my b- for the a’s of youth and plasticity elasticity the transparency of their gaze making it easy for me to observe.
i remember the days when i drew the stares putting on airs like they were staring ‘over there’ when it was my curves that drove them past 80 and my youth that trumped my knowing-ness. things are simpler now that i’m invisible divisible only by my thoughts remembering that i have more —thoughts- than the oglers could handle and more depths than the ogled could fathom; from the balding eagles to the ravenous ravens while they pass by my matronly self.
i wonder if they know i know how to make their toes curl in 12 seconds flat— if they know i have more erogenous zones than a 15 year old boy at his first dance… do they know i can make them come with a whisper in their ear? that i like it like they do and will tell them without the games? do they know i don’t expect anything more than a tangled mess of hair, sweat and animal need? that i don’t need a call don’t need them to fall at my feet and worship me (but while they’re down there, i’ll give 'em something worthwhile to do).
ah but i’m just see-thru here at the pool watching them drool over a dream or two and then they can go back to their bottomless lives their frigid-assed wives and i can feel the sun warming me just there, privately aware of my power my b- power with a bang.