I’m awake. It was a dream; that body, that life. Love condensed, the sex, the abuse, murder and freedom. Coldly ending in the corner of a bathroom sink or a cement block by the beach. Snagged and rolling under the surf.
He had my blood on him, my everything. His straight brown hair, beautifully abused body. Oil and chisel, Lorax moustache and public curls. I felt as much as saw; looking at this someone you loved, and the monster they became, and the body of Geneviéve, cold. She’d done it, she was a feminist, that’s how we met. I felt her hate, loved, but never fully understood. Like me she missed something, but committed fully to her ideal, bolting down to a feeling and destroying anything-anyone. I think I loved her, I don’t know why she was there. Perhaps I’d invited her, she lay behind him, me in-front as he took me from behind, sand like silk beneath us, slapping, careless. Loveless, he pushed through me, done with effort. A maestro lover, fallen. Wayward ejaculations of energy, with fading care for a world that passed by too quickly.
Remember this feeling. Remember this feeling, remember this feeling, remember… this… feeling. Please try to REM–
Hi, It’s me.. This is my body. My consciousness, there’s the wall at my head. It’s early. Possum early. Screeching, scrambling guttural growls wake me. God I wish they were dead. All dead, remember? All?
How can this be preserved? My body was like a black ant’s. Carapace smooth, almost reflective. Suspended breasts, a socketed torso, lean and full of life with warm, supple concaves and rounds. A balance of hills and caves, peaks and troughs. One more life that wasn’t my own.