by Adina Pelle
When I first saw you in the bar, you looked wild and beautiful, lips painted with red lipstick, cheap defilement of any conceivable purity, hair loose, left back framing your face like black smoke, with red nails, unequal, with high heels, too high and uncomfortable. You looked at me and with your glass in your hand, got up, hit the dance floor, and danced as if no one else was around. I saw what was to come through the red languid liquid in the goblet. What was to come really came .My burned thoughts seem left in total standby now like the eyes of others gathered around the dance floor.
Tears run dry now . I remember that night as if it lasted a thousand years.
You were incredible. There was silence, but I heard your beating heart. I kissed you; I undressed you with slow but feral moves.
“You beautiful gypsy!"
I felt your thin body, trembling body under my kisses. I can feel your body even now when I close my eyes!
The next day I realized you were just a heap of body pleasures; I realized how miserable you could be. Pathetic and cold. You walked out and left behind only the lipstick stained sheets, the smell of cheap of wine, and pain.
I know one day, I will kill you. There are hundreds of ways to die. You can die while your heart still beats and the world continues to swirl on around.