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Life

A moment of letting go
My body is lagging behind my passion



March 2, 2007
iranian.com

Heat ...

in my spirit

in my desire

in my temper

in my palms

Sweat drops ...

on my chest ...

on her chest

on my shoulders ...

on her neck

pounding hearts ... synchronized

short of breath ...

almost hyperventilating

Speechless ...

no words ...

just sounds.

no thoughts ...

just senses.

no past or future ...

just now.

no smells ...

just scents.

The scent of her cave on her neck ...

filling my nostrils

The taste of her cave on her lips ...

after me kissing her.

Lost in...

agony ...

in losing foothold

pain ...

in our limbs

hurt ...     

in realizing our captivity

chase ...

in reaching liberation

Disorientation ...

Where am I?  

Don’t know ... at a home?  Inside a barn ... or perhaps
at an open piazza past midnight?

Where is my body?   

On the backseat of a cab?  On a bed?
by a lake?  or in the ocean?

Where are my arms ... my legs?

Proportions lost ... connections lost ... my arms are
miles away from my chest holding her hips.

Where is my soul?

Standing by me?  Or is it me standing by my soul?
Or maybe we are in this together ... me and my soul

Pain ...

in my head ...

for all the Bourbon that now is taking its toll on me

in my arms ...

they are numb ... exhausted of her weight ...
lifting and rocking her

in my legs ...

as the edge of the bed I am sitting on, and having her
sitting on top of me, is cutting the flow of blood.

In my teeth ...

being rubbed against hers in an absolute state of ecstasy ...
breaking all the rules of kissing.

Blood ...

being sucked into my mouth from her broken lower lip caused by my bite ... not my fault ... I did not bite hard ... it was her own excitement ... her lips were full, red with blood ... even her fingertips looked as if they would explode.

filling the two veins on my forehead, in the form of a wishbone , reaching my hair line, giving the impression that soon, two horns will grow out.

pumping and filling my artery on my throat, exposing it ready to be cut ... and in my eyes, as if I am about to devour her like a vampire..

in her lips ... both pair of them ... filling them ... to the bursting point ... ready to bleed again ... amplifying their taste ... increasing their heat.

Proximity ...

in kissing ...    

matters not where ... matters not what ... lips, hair, earlobes, neck, chest, nipples, lower lips, inside of her thigh ... as long as it has the shortest distance to my lips ... in a frenzy.

in touching ...

each others’ lips, eyelids, foreheads, bums, faces, limbs, souls and emotions      

in feeling ...

her cave’s convulsions around my loin

in fearing ...

that it will not last forever

And finally ... sounds ...

It is music ... savage ... not on the stereo ... but in my head. 

It is a ‘FUGATA’ ... going round and around with one single haunting theme ... chasing each other ... presenting nuances with the introduction of each instrument ... and then the dynamics ... intense vibratos shaking the very foundation on which the universe is build upon.  The ‘Fugata’ is now stretched out in one long ‘Ritardando’ and then ‘Accelerando’, unleashing a long lasting ‘ad liebe’ ... like Liszt’s symphonic poems, Les Préludes ...

rhythm loses its function ... and then regains its rigid way of putting moments in order.

no other musical form would be able to match the intensity of that position.

I lay down ... on top of me she is.

I see nothing just rays of light, penetrating through the canapé of her hair, surrounding my face, limiting my vision.  I hear an ‘Elegy’ ... yes ... the rhythm has changed ... calm ... the sound of sky ... I hear ... I hear the Bandoneon ... Piazzolla’s ‘Los Suenos’ ... the base line ... constant ... solid ... just the way we are connected and glued together ... and the melody line ... ‘Placido Cantabile’ ... just the way she is rocking on me as a boat on the waves of the ocean.

She is now looking into my eyes ... a smile breaks upon her lips ... the blood is gone ... I have sucked it all.  Her nipples are hard and aroused ... as if she is ready to give milk ... time stands still ... in that metronomic motion on top of me ... she loses control and gains perfect sense of time...and breaks time’s continuity. 

Every move, touch, smile, kiss, drop of sweat and sigh is felt intensely ... and Piazzolla is letting his Bandoneon sing a hymn to our joint prayer.

Yes ... a prayer ... because in our fornication, we pay our ultimate tribute to his holy ... by loving intensely and selflessly ... .completely and exhaustingly ... magically.

Is it the sound of mourning?  is she being???...no ... that’s not it ... it is more like the sound of reaching for air, after being submerged.  High pitched ... short ‘Staccato’ ... ’Marccatissimo’ yet ... ‘Dolcissimo’! 

Yes ... that is the sound when I take her from behind ... and see her hair covering her shoulders.  I lean forward and bury my face into her hair ... Paradise must smell like this. 

Her body takes the strangest form, when she turns her head around on that position on her four ... to kiss me ... my left arm hooks around her neck. 

If someone would walk in now and not knowing better, they would think that I am attempting to break her neck.

In that position, her body looks like a bow held by an archer, pulling her invisible string to the bursting point ... a longing for firing the arrow is building up ... releasing the tension.

Can’t go on much more ... I don’t want her to get numb ... the drama must not lose its essence ...

Tranquility ... relaxation ... total submission ... must release the tension. 

I now see her stomach from above clearly, as I look down ... and the heat hits my face ... as a desert storm, but without any sand corns ... the heat and the scent ... so intense as if I am sensing all the women in the world at once.

My angel ... I see him ... next to me ... almost fanning my spirit with his huge silky soft wings, as to cool down my spirit ... and smiling upon me.

My heart is soon going to explode ... pumping rivers of blood into my limbs ... can’t breathe ... my body is lagging behind my passion. 

She is loosing up more and more ... for each time she is being filled by me ... she is getting more inviting ... every cavity of her is open ... wide ... and wet ... asking for penetration ... she can’t keep her eyes open ... and yet each time she looks at me ... the light in her eyes is just ...

a gaze ...

a haze.

She is losing air ... can’t even scream no more ... holding her breath ... a final push ... and the volcano inside her erupts ... convulsions and vibrations ... flashes of heat ... it does not stop ... keeps on going ... on that moment, finally a scream ... and shouts of liberation ... nails pierced into my palms ... my eardrums are about to burst, as her mouth is so close to my face ... I have to bite her lips again ... and kiss her, otherwise I will go deaf.

And me ... I let go ... sincerely.

I space out ... gone ... I am hovering ... and suddenly find myself inside safe and empty pockets between dimensions. 

No flash ... no spasm ... no ... just a demonstration of total control of every single muscle in my body to have them work together ... a symphony ... with colorful orchestration that only Korsakov would be able to master.

Not for a moment ... no ... but a prolonged ‘Crescendo’ ... as if Ravel’s Bolero would be paraphrased in seconds ... but the ‘Crescendo’ does not end ... it continues ... the orchestra keeps playing and playing on the ‘Finale’ again and again ... ‘Da Capo’,  ‘Da Capo’,  ‘Da Capo’ ... I no longer hear her ... no longer feel her ... no longer breathe ...

All emptiness ...

death must be like this ...

a moment of letting go. Comment

Jan 27, 2007 – London, UK

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