Molten wax drips down the copper sconce onto the end table while you light my cigarette and offer me a pale green aperitif which I do not touch until you feign fascination at simple anecdotes that I find trivial enough to share with you. Easing into a faded blur we lean back against brocade cushions. Now, in a somewhat dreamier state of mind you attempt to further distract me with details of your recent dalliance with a french contemporary artist until I yawn with boredom. Suddenly, the embodiment of elegance, you smile and arch your brow, once again hold the spoon gently to my lips and in your impossibly delectable rhythm whisper that my hair and fair skin, so near, whips your mind into arousal and my supple lips are a crimson darkness that consumes you. I lean into your far off voice and my subconscious begins to vibrate for you. Seduced by the lure of Ravel’s Bolero I feel so soft inside and after a few more sips I hallucinate a frightened hare pursued by relentless hunter’s boots pounding the snowy banks that rise above our grotto at the foot of the alps where we venture into hedonism. I cry out in terror and you press my face into your chest to spare me the moonless massacre spilling down the mountainside into the foothills. Having been saved from what now evades us, we slip into a deep and somber slumber.
art by L’ Rend Fou