Whispering Pine for a Silhouette
by Chong Yen Long
My body feels warm tonight although there is a breeze entering the room. I descend the lonely mansion onto the Port Dickson beach to seek solace of twilight and twinkle, winking stars.
Thirty years is a long time by human reckoning, but it seems like only yesterday. My body from waist up trembles--at the thought of caressing a sixteen-year-old body sublime, me some seven years senior but not any wiser, in a fruity encounter I think subconsciously fostered by reading DH Lawrence's "Lady Chatterley's Lover" at the tender age of 13!
I look up to the study in the bungalow my rich aunt bequeathed me instead of to her children because she found me more adorable as I could paint and write adult poetry in childhood. I am also romantic; otherwise, who would imagine bringing a young neighbourhood gal to a rendezvous in this gods' forbidden territory?
A black bird suddenly takes off from a whispering pine tree as I approach a bench underneath its arching fronds. And as I look up that window, I can see the silhouette--maybe this crow's granduncle had once stood at that window-sill peeping at two other "birds" locked in embrace?
I could still sign my lover's name in a thousand variations -- Chinese calligraphy style--in the sands.
Tonight I celebrate the return of my first-love silhouette in a hallowed study. I can feel the electrifying sensation of a climax being scaled as we entwine in a Kamasutra pose.