May 10, 2003 - 7:22 a.m.
May 10, 03...early evening
Expletives. The word runs through my head, tape looped, circulating through my sleeping thoughts, permeating feelings of morning where I regret the wine that permeates my wrenching insides. I hear keys jingling in the hallway. I hope it is you. Then the clink of the dog next door�s collar. I sink. Last night. Prelude to all our ambitions, now complete, unnerved by what could have torn us. As your hands linger, tracing over already ripe flesh, you remind me why it�s you I�ve been saving my taste for, waiting to be bitten. She falls back astonished, first by the noise I make under her fingers, and then by the walls come amplifier, the sub-woofer of darkness, in the space of these bodies, channeling the frequencies of known hands.
You, like shy school girls, giggle with covers pulled up under your chins. Me, for once, the instigator, where I always play naive, pulling the sheets from you, tearing down your inhibitions.
The pain comes at night, expletives, expletives, the word that started off our evening... I told you that you read porn like a documentary. I try my hand? Documenting the change in your breath as I read on. Perhaps I am being punished for my lack of control. However, damage undone, I am spared until after we have all fallen down, and only I am left to reconsider the abuse I�ve undergone. I crawl to the next room and toss until 7 am. Two hours until we wake to go to work.
At work, I get the feeling that the kitchen staff think they�re on to something. This will be a good year. There is colour in the kitchen, pink hair and piercings... we don�t talk about our past, but I have my moments where I can�t help but remember and want to pinch you for all the shit I love and hate about you. Even Tim is in an oddly rose coloured state, and go figure, he orders us some mussels. The kitchen boys are fiesty, they think the same of me. Maybe they smell it.
She lies back, in this room I designed for this exact purpose, taking in the performance we have rehearsed but always fuck up, never the delicate encounter we imagine, losing control, taking back ourselves. Welcome, the room says. Stay as long as you like. Unless you have to work in the morning.
