MAGIC
By S.S.
You and I. Teenagers. Beneath the trees. The birds scatter as I send the thing in my hand crashing into your back. I watch them as they go. Our are clothes scattered amongst the natural debris of the forest floor. Alone. In the woods. You can turn back if you wish, whoever we are. It's just me and him, that is me and you. I love you. Crashing into me. Crashing into you.
You.
A squirrel flinches and bounds up one of the old trees that surround us. I crash against you, again and again, like a wave caught in the machinery of the tide. For a moment I feel delightfully out of control. Another collision and I stagger passed the place where you stood firm to take what I brought against your back. I slow my trajectory, look back at you, at your naked form. So brave and strong, you are. Hands firm, clutching the tree before you.
The Tree
Wood
A switch in my hand I've been beating you with. A switch, they used to call it in the one room school days. We shoplifted this fine specimen from a walmart, giggling all the way like the children, walking back to the woods as if to return this mutilated, repurposed twig to its place of origin.
A bit of blood. It drips down the smooth surface of the switch. Blood. I watch it glisten down your back and drip. Your skin has broken. You quiver with the pleasure of it all. The tide coming in to meet you. Get lost in the ocean. Lets not be afraid of being lost anymore. It's okay to be lost, to be caught in the tide
Of course
There is no tide. Just you. Just me. Just us. Out here. Hundreds of miles from the place where the water meets the land. Naked and crashing. Crashing into one another yet again.
If you were a cat you would be purring like a motor. Loving how I bring the thing to again to your skin. You fucking glutton. You perfect angel. You godsend. A red X has now opened up on your back. We did it this time didn't we? You look back and smile. I can't believe the joy in your eyes. A red X on your back. Red lines criss crossing from your hips to your shoulders. One of the lines had scabbed over, the one from last time. The other that laid across it was bright, glistening and new. Your skin was perfect to my eyes, had always been perfect and smooth to my hands, but I did as you asked. I did it because I wanted to do as you asked. I broke you perfect skin to make you smile. You had begged and here you are receiving. That baby smoothness was gone. A new bright red slash.
But I swear
It's nothing ugly
It's what we want
It is only for us
Just you and I
And quite naturally
I am a little taken aback at what we've done, at our handy work at this point. I look at the switch that would perhaps be better suited in the hands of a strict teacher or a child's Halloween variation on a teacher. I look beyond it. I look to you. You are breathing so heavily, as you always do. You're doing such a good job. I love you. You are doing such a good job. Your eyes look up to the sky, slowly descending down toward me. I listen to you mumbling your silky baby talk poetics, your seussian glossolalia, it makes me twitch right between my legs, I'm not too proud to admit it. My eyes wander to you, follow the little bead of blood as it drips down your back to kiss and slink down your bare behind. Right there, right where I want to be. But listen. Listen to me, please. It's not what you all think. It's bizarre. It sounds strange. So strange, but
There's nothing vulgar here.
Nothing vulgar about it at all.
Everything is in it's natural place
As natural as the seasons
I want to touch you so bad. Now. Right now. Take you in my arms. End the game to be that bead of red sliding across your back. But no. I know it's not time. It's not time for it. Your smiling eyes tell me so many things. I smile back. Of course I do. My eyes, though, they drift. I watch a bug-a mosquito, I think-land on that smooth surface of your lower back. I feel something on my own. The same moment, the same piece of skin. You and I united. I don't flinch. A mosquito. Our mosquitos. I do as you do, I don't flinch. I don't move. My eyes return to yours and I don't break the contact we've made. I let it sink it's little needle in, I breathe in as you breathe in, really feel it as it sucks. I watch yours engorge itself on you as you look back at me with those eyes.
Your smile shows it's teeth. There is a perfect ecstasy displayed in your toothy grin, and I love you for it. Another trickle of red runs down the X we made on your back. A tear flows too. Tears of joy in your eyes.
I could never get to where you get with this stuff. I never found what you found in taking it, the way you do, we tried, it didn't really work on me, and that's fine. I am happy to be the one who is here, with you. Happy to be the one who gives. You on the other hand. You blossom. Look at that face, rejoicing to the trees, to the sky above, to the blood that is beginning to escape from the place where the rod had met your flesh. Your eyes clearly rejoice to that insect that gorges itself on your perfect behind. You creature. You angel.
How could I say no. How could I not give this to you. This simple gift you crave. I am happy to give whatever it is that makes your face contort in that way. I would devote myself to so much more to make your face contort that way, and twitch with such transcendence. I am happy to give.
The insect flutters away, wobbling like a dunkard, absolutely full of you. I am about to grip you to kiss you finally cast aside this game, but the words come. They come out of your smile and rub themselves all over my inner ear. They explode, deconstruct and then reconfigure endlessly, presenting themselves as something simple. As familiar little words in a familiar little phrase. I feel like an alien, visiting this planet for the very first time. I am dazzled by what comes out of this perfect young earthlings mouth.
"Will you give me more?" The chosen phrase. You can barely get that question out as your smile quivers, as the cool air kisses every inch of you, every secret place, no longer secret. I shake my head, not exactly refusing you, but unable to take it all. All this excitement. All this light. It sounds so silly but I don't know any other way of putting it. I raise my switch and watch your eyes follow it's rise and then return to my own concentration. I ready myself for you.
"One more." I say.
"One more." You echo back at me. You want to say my words just as much as you want to echo them for the simple sake of agreement. You want to taste them. I can see you taste them on that perfect little drooling tongue. I can see you savor them and you know I can, color entering your cheeks.
A blush
Color in your cheeks
God, I love you
I want to be full of you, like the insect that is buzzing in my ear, the one that is full of you and wants more. You beautiful creature. I take a step back and freeze in place. Your eyes don't leave me as you stipend yourself. I can hear the words in your head: Please, yes, he's doing it, oh he is. He is. He's coming. He's coming to me. Here he comes.
I take a breath and then, I come at you, running, wooden switch over my head, I grip it with both hands, feeling my nakedness against the wind. The wood in my hand flies forward, it smacks against you and breaking upon that bloody line where it had met you before.
The rod shards fall to the leafy ground, my momentum sends me crashing into you at last and you fall forward, we crash against the bark of the ancient tree, a result of potential energy exerted and exploding onward. Here we are! Finally together. You start to sob as we squirm, neither able to handle the novelty of touch at this moment, at last free of the roles and bit of now broken wood that had been our only gateway to one another, our only line of correspondence. The splintered thing on the ground seems to revel as well, we laugh as we squirm, the little switch has returned to its home out here in the wild woods at last.
In our writhing heap against the tree we are a mess. We are an absolute mess (a mass?). I cling to you from behind feeling you get all over me, it's okay though, I want it, It's warm and it's you and I want it. Pressed up so tight against you. I want us. You and I. A moaning mass. A moaning, shrieking mess.
There you go
There you go
There you go
That's for you
I say it over and over again, as you drink it in I can see you closing your eyes, twisting and twitching in my increasingly desperate grasp. My tongue goes down the back of your neck, it's as if i'm watching it do what it's doing, choice hardly factoring into it, I watch with glee. It finds your smoothness, your sweat, that sweet red X on your skin, the one we made together. My hands are doing what they do, they are reaching everywhere they can, reaching for anything they can find. Yours do the same gripping and clutching wildly. It feels as though there must be more of us, dozens of hands, so many hands all over our bodies in such pure ecstatic joy.
I lick. I lick the side of the X we made a week earlier, the one that no longer shimmers but is smooth now with healing. I touch you and remember that time. And then my tongue finds your new wound and I suck which sends you into a further frenzy. I laugh into you as I do it, laugh at us. This tangle of despicable youths. And then my eyes close and I am gentle again all of the sudden as you begin to speak in your sweet whisper echoing my phrase as I lick and kiss and grab. My body seems to convulse with every syllable you quietly, gleefully drop into my ear.
There you go
There you go
A kiss on my ear.
There you go
That's for you
You echo on and, and on until I come up for air. Find my hot cheek against yours, we both take a deep at once breath. We can feel that breath, feel the ones that follow.
Please
Breathe into me, now feel me breath. We close our eyes and just breath against one another. Another breath cheek to cheek we laugh, and at last our mouths meet and I grip what I find between your legs with both of my eager hands.
I won't go into the rest, that's just for us. Just you and me. All that moaning and rolling on the forest floor, the way they did at the dawn of time. Before people had to show up for work, when folks were devoured by beasts as they fucked and bred all over the ground.
Yes
I will keep it brief
I will say it's all over in a flash, shooting our stuff and finding ourselves in a tangle of leaves and twigs, splinters of the switch stuck in our back skin. We are clinging in all that muck like two fauns whose mother has just received the hunters fire. The two of us alone. There is a time of blankness for both of us. A time of stillness where we come back to ourselves, remember our separateness, remember the secrets of our inner lives. A feeling of coming home and being not quite the same, but being home nonetheless.
Stillness, and then
It is shattered. Something is finally said. It doesn't matter what it is, it won't be remembered. It is a simple trigger, a way launching us forward once again. A slow exchange of words. We still glow despite it all. It does not dissipate with time. Despite what even we may think, the light goes on and on for us. Hands fumbling in the shadows of the sunset. Finding our clothes and putting them on. Walking in various states of undress, taking our time, as if these bits of cloth and cotton are suddenly foreign to us. We set off through the woods. A beast scuttles passed unafraid.
The forest
It had all gone on without us of course, the comings and goings of the animals were unaffected by our ridiculous little display. There would be nothing left of it after we had gone, no memory, nothing. The creatures of the forest are suddenly so very visible, seeming to emerge from that primordial stew to watch us or be indifferent.
"Who are they?" asks the buzzing mosquito whose abdomen is still full of you or me or both of us.
"Who gives a shit?" squeaks the squirrel.
Indeed.
Who will remember these two? These half hairless animals, coated in that wild assortment of muck, who walk hand in hand, slowly learning with every step, with every inch of forest that they traverse, how to perform in a way that is acceptable in that place beyond the woods. These two. They recall how to cover oneself, how to be snide, how to be sarcastic, how to speak properly, how to speak in full sentences that communicate what one wants succinctly, how to put on clothes and somehow appear less beast like just in time for the trees to dissipate and and reveal hot black top, telephone wires and cars, all with a vast ocean of blue above it.
You and I
We separate rather nonchalantly, both fully re-evolved from our devolved monkey brained selves that had sprouted and spilled out there where the roads end and the trees begin. Is how we always do. A brotherly peck on the cheek under the fading son. Tonight though is different it's understood we are to wash up good and proper. It's the night I am to meet your mother. I must be presentable. We must be presentable. We both have our moments where the forced amnesia breaks, one of us suddenly gripping the other, wishing to return, to become animals again. We keep each other accountable, pulling each other back to earth. You seem insistent at one point but it's nothing but a little kiss and a tug on your hand won't fix. We have much to do in the real world tonight.
I kiss you goodbye and we zoom forward. Everything speeds up again, everything going so very fast. My old familiar webbings of thought clutter returning, familiar, just as I had left them, full of loops and neurosis, but my heart was still beating with you in it. I was still glowing.
I find my skateboard and you find your bike and we are gone, going in separate directions, without a single glance backward. Sailing atop my half splintered old Toys R Us Christmas board, I fly toward home. The vibrations of the wheels on the paved road mixes with the glow you gave me and I seem to awaken, as if from a dream when the pavement suddenly gives way to the grass of the little lawn outside my apartment. I remember nothing of the trip, not a single turn or close call with an oncoming vehicle.
Leaving the board behind in the grass (safe in the knowledge that even the most desperate of thieves would most likely reconsider making off with my lovely splinter on wheels!) I glide up the steps to our apartment. It's open. I go through and I am seen by no one. I am a ghost. I haunt the bathroom now, running the water and ridding myself again of my clothes, though the dance of stripping does not give me the rush I get when you are watching me do it. I imagine that you are there with me and it makes me get them off quicker. I perish the thought away, saving it for later, saving you for later. Outside the tiny bathroom that I haunt, I hear my my mother and donny in an uproar yet again.
I am invisible here.
I say it as the water of the shower begins to fall on me.
I am invisible.
Then
There is water
Just water
No just
Just
Water.
I wash you off of me. I watch as you go down the drain along with the grime and bits of earth that had road with me all the way home from the forest. I watch it all go down the drain between my toes. I pray for more. I twist the knob, making it hotter, I always want it to hurt a little. I lift my head back and I close my eyesI think of the switch we left in the woods, becoming one with the underbrush, at last returned to its brothers and sisters after it's long strange journey in the hands of man, and then back here to its place of origin. I imagine the switch sprouting branches, taking root. I smile. I imagine the switch bearing fruit.
Root
Fruit
I hate fucking poetry.
I scrub and squirt what is needed at first and then the rhythm of it all gives way to me scrubbing every bit of me that I can find. My hands gliding and slipping like the rest of me might spring from my own hands into the air like a bar of soap in some silly cartoon. I rub down my belly, rub down below, to the place where you go,
Fucking poetry
I don't wash for your mother's sake, well I suppose this is in a way for her, but I wash for you. I always wash for you. I think of you, think of all the places rushing hot water could touch you. I am hands on you. I am the water.
I stay calm.
I don't get worked up, at least not for that first frew moments, for a few perfect moments none of this is about sex, it's about water, water and two people in two separate placesr. I wait.
I breathe in.
Control is gone. Poetry is gone. My hands slide down, they do what they do, things complicate and scatter out until they explode like fireworks on the third, fourth and fifth of July. Rolling fields of fractals, all delighted, all gorging themselves on their own tales.
Out in the hallway I hear a crash
More screaming
I am invisible.
I put on the decent clothes. I neglect the nicer ones, and yes, I know not just your mother, almost everyone's mother, would probably prefer the nicer ones, but I always choose these. I'll be more comfortable in them. If I am more comfortable ill be more willing to offer an more of myself. I think that's important. I never like saying it out loud. I don't want to sound like a TV commercial, but I do think that's important
I click through my stupid, outdated phone and put on "A Forest" by The Cure, the long version so I can jerk off, a frivolous action, but I am ahead of schedule, and there is still a bit of the animal I need to get out.
Click
I am traveling down a dark road lined with trees, an unavoidable image for any listener of this song, but rather suddenly I find that everything is like a movie, when the film starts to burn, melting/illuminating all around me. Seeing the film. Seeing the burning edge of it. A hand reaches down for whatever that thing is between my legs. Am I walking down that road? Have I been there? Walking or floating? The song gets louder, I don't know. It gets louder. I never touched the volume knob. I see blood. It drips from skin. I feel eyes on me. Tongues. Two tongues. Tongue on tongue.
Mom's boyfriend calls for me to turn it down, I don't, even though I realize this only now that he has yelled it multiple times. I don't react, I simply let his voice fade in and dissolve with everything else, with the expulsion, with the parade of all that is unleashed when I reach between my legs. He would never leave my mother's side to hassle me, not while entangled in his favorite argumentative dance with her. I am seeing someone on the road, up a bit further, no face. He has no face. Not any that I can see, but he is looking at me. He has no face and he is looking at me. I let him look.
And then
Then it's over. I am careful not to make a mess of myself, I've gotten good at this over the years, I suppose we all must get good at not making a mess as we go along. I scoff at the weak anecdote. I look at the little Mickey Mouse clock I've had since before the two times I tried to leave home, back in the sprite like child days of the gleaming gold sun. I am early. I am always either late or early. One day I might strike a balance. Perhasp the balance will strike me.
So I go to the library books piled on my desk, by now the screaming from the other rooms in the apartment sounds like muzak as I sink into my books. Books of magic. Ranging from Crowley ramblings, to bull shit wiccan stuff that makes me roll my eyes, to dry philosophical studies that I do not understand, run on paragraph labyrinth that I can get lost and go cross eyed in. I am not certain I believe a single piece of it, but I can hardly say I am qualified to discount any of it. I am looking for something, something burning and centralized, buried somewhere in here, in these books. It could all be fake of course. It's just magic. It is what it is. Just like anything else. I also have a glorious stack of comic books. Capes in the wind. Shadows on the streets.
I am late. I hurry out of my capsule and into the hallway. I grab what I must and avoid the sounds of my mother and her boyfriend still at it. I am invisible. I pass through the kitchen and my hand is on the door knob ready to go, but I freeze. My hand shifts to the oven knob automatically. Something I read triggered inside me? A magical act of chance. Something deep and festering in me? No. I don't think so. Something automatic. A simple gesture, much like magic, a twist of the hand on a knob. The oven and all the hell it bears inside it's bowels, sparks to life, and then I turn and disappear out into the world again.
I am once again on my board soaring down the street. My mind is blank for a few streets, but by the time I get down the big hill on Merriman road, an image of the oven falls into my head. A magical act indeed. Who turned it on? What's all this smoke in here? An apartment in flames, a towering inferno. Then I remember, though all the oven, and my mother wrestling with it, how the old contraption worked roughly half the time. I wonder which side of time we are all on now.
And then
I hit the other side of yet another hill and it's all wind and gravity from there carrying my body down toward you.
Ah
There you are.
A reasonable home in a reasonable part of town, the smell of laundry and cleaning products. These scents are a great lumber ghost that wanders your quaint little streets. I picture your entire street in a cleansing spin cycle, shattering and crashing back to earth, somehow clicking back together like legos, like nothing ever happened.
I blink. There you are before me, standing in the doorway. This is your home, where you sleep, where you cry. You have cleaned up, just as I have, made yourself presentable, you hide your wounds (our wounds). You hide the animal deep inside you. I can see it behind your eyes when I lean in toward you, pulling on it's leash. I kiss you on the cheek. Innocent enough. There she is, there's your mom. She's smiling and sending generic greetings, but she also looks a bit taken aback by the little peck we shared. Not that she appears to be disapproving, no, not like i'm used to at least, she was still smiling, more or less staring in wonder. Bright eyes, white teeth. The eyes seem to leak thought, I could see into her and I wondered if she could see into me, as if she could see all you and I had done by a simple stare into my eyes. Of course that's just a thought. Bullshit. She doesn't see anything. Just eyes, nothing more. I like her. I feel safe. I feel like I can say what I must.
Hello, I am with him, I am with your son, we have chosen each other. I'm the one he talks about, the one he screams for in his sleep, the one he doodles about on his bedroom wall in the place no one else sees. I'm him. I love him, if that word means anything to anyone. Hello. We embrace. It feels natural. I don't hug often but I want to hug her because she's yours. I want this to be good. Her wondrous smile never fades the entire night. She is sweet, as sweet as you said. I can't believe it. I am meeting your mother. I can't believe it. There she is, your mother, and here we are, all cleaned up and presentable. Meeting your mother, just like people do, they meet each other's mother. You meet people, certain people, and you meet their mothers.It's something that happens and it's happening to me.Your eyes say i'm doing fine. My eyes say I love you.
We are suddenly sitting at the dinner table. Passing conversation. She leaves and returns with trays of food that she insists she needs no help with when I ask (as one does). She sets plates down one after another. Back and forth. She disappears for a bit longer this time and I feel strange, something dark in me. A darkness welling up, I don't know what it is. The animal in me. That voice that isn't a voice, it's too large to simply be contained in a voice. I feel sucked forward, but your hand touches my knee, and I wonder if you are feeling it too, this ghost of a feeling. THis namelessness. You look at me and your hand moves between my legs, I want to get up on the table, do the wrong thing. To go wild. I continue to feel "sucked forward" as you touch and play, unable to hide your wildness in this time of brief silence. Forward. down a road. Yes! Down a road lined by trees, a place I've never been but always knew I would wind up in. Not walking, but floating forward down this road. I am frightened of myself, I am frightened of you. I feel a rising in me. I want to be vicious. I hear the forest. That song. Yes, the song, but also a forest. A real forest. Your hands keep working on me. A face on the road, it's yours. A page in my room. A page in one of those stupid books I got from the library, comic or mystic tome, it doesnt matter. It opens up. A page, just a page. It doesn't matter. It doesn matter which one, it's a spell just the same. A spell (it doesn matter which one). It casts itself into the air and into time, into the future, into our future.
And then? Well it goes away. Your hand is on my shoulder now. Calmness comes. Nothing lasts forever. There's your mother again. Only a moment (whatever a moment really is) has gone by. There she is smiling at us again. I look at her eyes as words come out of me again automatically, and then I look at your eyes. The same eyes. Shared eyes. Your hand has drifted back, away from me.
Food is here. Your mother is talking, you are talking. My plate is full of food, mashed things, things drenched in sauces and seasonings, things that warm as they drift down into me. You smile at me. Here we are, carrying a conversation. I am no monster, not really. We are not monsters, really, not yet. We are charming, you and I, she is too, like her, I do. I use no arsenal, no trickery, I am comfortable. We both "chime in." Schools and aspirations, how we met, reiterated, even though you roll your eyes and tell her you have already told the tale before. More smiles, and there seems to be a scent in the air, that I know you all don't smell. I do. I let it waft in, and I close my eyes, but I try not to make a scene. There is a snapshot of the moment, taken just for me. This will be a happy moment in my head now, I will be able to return here, I inevitably will, to observe. To observe the evidence. Sweet evidence. A memory of sweetness perhaps? Perhaps. Perhaps. What a vile word. Maybe something that simply is. Is. What a lovely word. My favorite of all the words.
She excuses herself to go to the bathroom. We of course take advantage. Bodies rejoicing, your hand returning to whatever part of me you choose. I kiss your ear, we kiss and we lick, the way we do. You awful perfect animal. We hear a sound and we calmly return to the world. A zip up and it's over. Back to dinner.Yes? No. She's walking over to you, her hands falling on you, resting on your shoulders. Saying kind words, I watch her slender hand as it drops a little, down on the scar, that fresh scar you and I made. My eyes darting to your face. You wince. I feel a prick of pleasure running up my neck. With a smile and you quiver that way you do when you wince with me. We all hear it. Your mother's eyes are narrowing. She asks if you're okay? You say it's just shiver. Are you cold? No, mom, fine, mom.
"Well, can I?"
"Can you what mom?" Both our minds go to wild places in that brief second of quiet.
"Take your plate of course, same thing I asked you a minute ago?" A hand on my shoulder now, it is hers and she is laughing, my eyes never leave your back, never leave our wound, the one that hides behind your nice presentable clothes.
"Always out in the clouds he is!" She's looking at me. "Gotta watch this one." She is winking at me."Can you believe this boy?" She asks me.
"Yes." is my answer, a flat calm syllable, my mouth working without me. She finds it witty and dead pan. The word stays in my mouth as I smile. Yes. It rings of magic, whatever the hell magic really is. Her slender hand seems to know more than she does, feeling around on your back, gliding across our wound, another wince from you and it's all I can do to keep myself from grabbing you right then and there and putting my lips on whatever I can find of you
The dishes are indeed simply taken away and ice cream is had, we move in the other room. Watch TV. I feel as though I've passed the test, I've broken in, jumped the gate. I have met your mother. It's not like I have horns, or teeth. I'm not so bad.
I'm not so bad.
We watch and joke at the sitcom as it attempts to laugh and joke at us. Your mother is tired. Hours have passed but it feels so soon. She gets up from her old chair. She hugs me, and this time she feels like an old friend. It was lovely to meet you. It was lovely to meet you too.
In a silent little room, the TV buzzing, with you by my side. Just you and just me now. We don't rush off. Not yet. We savor. We don't even look at one another. We keep our eyes on the people that swirl around on the TV screen, we watch them the way cats watch mice, the way they watch them in a sort of admiring way just before the pounce. A deep breath. A moment, then another, then another deep breath.
And
I reach for you
I pounce
But
I see that you have already disappeared. You have not gone far, hardly a spell of true disappearance. Hardly magic. You are by the screen door that leads out into the darkness of the woods behind your house. Our woods. I get up and watch you. Your eyes don't find me, in the darkness of the room, not yet. I watch. By the time your clothes hit the floor and you are standing perfectly naked in your childhood home, out there by the screen door for all of the night to see, your body wrapped in that movie moonlight, that's when II know. Once and for all, I know you really are nuts. You really are an animal. You might be too much for me. You might even be dangerous to me one day. Something I curse, something I regret. Perhaps. Perhaps I should be the one to tell someone how bat shit you are. You haven't told on me yet though. I smile at you. I wont tell on you then. I wont tell if you wont.
I walk up to you, your eyes still staring into the night through the screen door as if you are looking for me out there, as if you don't know I'm right here before you. I stand before you. You don't flinch. My hand goes to your bare back, along the smoothness, along our X of scars. I feel your smoothness. My eyes follow my hand and then they close. My tongue is suddenly, sweetly, at last in your mouth, but only for a moment. You step away. Your eyes are locked on mine. A brief smile from you and then it fades. You slide open the door. You turn away from me and you disappear into the night. You are running as fast as you can. I watch you for a moment, your skin in the night, a bad little child, a squealing beast.
And then
I find that the night now has me too. I am running, my hands tearing at my form, I find my tearing free of whatever bit of clothing I find. They fall in the yard, we leave the door open and everything, the insects rejoice and inherit your home. We run with our cocks swinging and flapping in the night air. Dumb boys out in the night, nothing more. Perhaps your mother can see us as we run toward the woods. Perhasp she likes what she sees, perhaps she is some kind of twisted pervert or something, reveling in the ecstasy of it all. Perhaps not, though. Perhaps that's just my own perverted mind dreaming that up. Perhaps she gazes out her window and sees the joy of it all. That her boy is happy and free, at long last. Perhaps she will never mention what she has seen but will widen her smile when she goes into work this week. Most likely though, she is asleep and dreaming, lost in her own world. Perhaps. Perhaps. What a word.
You. Oh you. Out there ahead of me running with all you have. I can see your scars. Your X. A red x out there in the shadows. I run toward the bouncing X. I am reaching for it, ready to dive into it. The forest engulfs you, you disappear into it. I am running, no floating, being sucked forward. A book opening to reveal it's naked contents. The stars laugh above us. I am suddenly frightened but exhilarated. I dive toward the forest and it engulfs me in it's blackness. We hurry onward, shooting off like a spell shot from wands, or wizard staffs, swirling bits of light cast off into the future. Fledgling incantations, a curse taking hold.
No more language. No more thought. Only a few phrases remain in our mouths. I reach you. I collide into you. I grip you and squeal my spell, reaching for whatever I can and I say it into your whichever ear I find first. I say it again and again.
There you go.
There you go.
There you go.
I will look back on this one day, at my many snapshots. I will look back, as an old man perhaps. I do not know this person that I shall become, the person who watches me roll with you in the leaves, and he does not know me, as he watches us fuck and grip under these ancient trees that will still stand even after this watcher fades into his grave. He watches us love, and listens in his memory, listens to us wail into the night. I do not know him. Let him watch. Let him remember with watery eyes, or have his regrets, let him recoil. I don't care. Let him see us hump and spray what we must. Let him see our wounds and how we make them. The way we heal. Let him see the way we kiss. Oh my, the way we kiss. Let him say it was foolish. Let him say it was love. Let him say it was the beginning of the end. Let him say you were a problem, that you were dangerous, that we were a beast, that I was a beast. Let him say it was what it was, because what it was was magic. Really it was. It is. Is. what a word. Let them all watch as we do what we do. What we do is magic. Evoke. Transform. Come.
Come here now.