Reads: 165  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 22, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 22, 2018



 Bucharesti, Winter.  

Bless me, with tweezers, to remove this splinter.  

12.45 p.m.. Airport security. Terminal irony.

I am among them.

They are among me.

I make my way to the money stealing streets.

I find a taxi cab driver, whose family needs to eat.

I arrive at my flat, unpack my carried on baggage  brought from over seas,

then spend more money on room service than some here make in a week.


A foreigner with a cigarette and wine, standing arrogantly on the balcony,  over-looking the Danube,

I think of what to do next, how it would be fair, to find a way to make this life, into something I can use.


Then I leave my room, this 24 hour existence we all live in, and walk out into the future, searching for a way.


My past brought me here.


I stroll down cobble stoned streets, back alley rats the Dacia size, abandoned kittens and hungry roaming dogs.


Walking into the Hubble of all my telescopic ideas, I find a club; pay the fee. We all pay a fee; a western union.


The lights are as loud as the music.


I amble over to the bar, and just stand there. Beautiful women get attention first, and I am just a man.

I wait, patiently, for the first one to approach.


It isn't long before I am sized up, with eyes that have no idea of my girth.


I follow her out the club into the ghost town, where my tumble weed memories scatter about, unnoticed, foreshadowing. 


Back at her flat she poor me a drink, asks me how my mood is, then disappears to change, transforming by lingerie.


Our acquaintance was not by mistake, and she did not find me by accident.


She slowly drops the lacy fringed see through spider web of wardrobe across the marble floors, her saunter hastens.


 I have gone from a fully clothed man, to some nude tapestry waiting to be strung up by her thumb tack kiss.


I came here to meet her, not arriving too quickly; I patiently planned my vulnerability.


Wanting this to last for an eternity, in our brief moment, I fell to my knees.


She stopped in her tracks, the prowling movement of her soft hunger, hesitant, as I bowed down.


And, there the two of us stayed, locked in place by each others gears of intention.


Her, hungering for the chance to devour, eating me alive.

Me, waiting to be fed upon, serving up my hot revenge.

It's no longer cold here.


I can't feel anything, anymore.


Bucharesti, Spring.


Nothing with myself, nothing without her. 


I face the hell inside me, little wooden pieces of my own cross itching away to be removed.


Summer is coming. 


I accept what is to come,

I apologize,

as I get up off my knees and figure it out. 


Face to face with myself,

she is the one I let;

killing me alive daily,

in our timeless eternal connection,

where forever means,

I can't forget,

but I will,








© Copyright 2019 Dr. Acula. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: