Across a Dark Room

Satin sounds of "Unchained Melody"
pierce and pin my wings like a matted
and framed gypsy moth.
Black eyes of Italian passion
ignite sleeping tigers within my soul.
Under his black satin shirt, unbuttoned
to expose his chest, my eyes journey...slowly
down...beneath his black pleated pants...
the mind, imagines... roams the scent
with animal insight.

Across a smokeless room
his vocal rendition ignites the
flames of passion, lost in the bed of
childhood innocence...
I'm unable to contain the excitement... my heart
palpitates...paroxyms explode as Iwatch him...
obsession seeps head first inward to paralyze and
preclude resistance; with each crescendo, madness
beckons, invites..each thrust of his hips send chills up
beyond black lace fantasies stalking me with his secret
kisses blown surreptitiously across motionless room;
each penetrating look from him dissolves the coldness
and emblazens the erogenous zones of celibacy

For months now we've stroked, teased, endured
explosive foreplay...
On break, he greets everyone, but always finds
the essence of me sitting on a sequestered
bar-stool enraptured...single-pointedly focused on him...
his moves, his burning eyes, his unspoken,
yet perceived rhythms, undulating, provoking
the siren within...with unnoticed touches
...arms secretly embrace...the heat of our breath
our bodies exude magnetic sparks.
We make conversation, anything to make excuses
for spending hoarded moments...sucking his breathe
his mouth, his eyes we tantalize each otherur game
of foreplay increasing desire with the knowing
that the best is yet to come:
passion's frenzy yet to be harvested.

Did I ever see the woman who nightly selected and
changed his music on the laptop, who watched him
as he sauntered over and sat next to me; did I even care...
to see her in the shadows, in the background of his
spell-binding persona.

Fueled by obsession's taste for more...
I finally get up the courage and risk rejection
... accept the possibility...responsibility
of being required to be, to feel like a woman again...
In the throws of obsession before I leave the club
that night standing at destiny's door
I write: "my home is quiet and private
we can talk about your lost passion
your dreams, your lost hopes..."
on a cocktail napkin and hand it to him
in a small, folded and folded, palm-sized bundle
as I'm walking towards the door.

The agony of anticipation.
Two weeks.  Every time the telephone
rings, I feel my heart jump, my blood race
my temples pound, my mouth dries then
he never calls.
Why! in god's name didn't he call I ask
over and over ruminating on insecurity until...

The second Wednesday night
of the new month, I walk into the club.
Almost as if time stood still, he's dressed in black silk shirt,
black pleated pants wearing the same intensity...
passion's promise upon his lips as he throws me a subtle
kiss from the microphone...

Can I endure the suspense any longer!
It's 8:45 p.m. He stops singing. It's
break time.  My eyes...my mind follow him
as he visits tables slowly, methodically
working his way to the table where I'm sitting,
surrounded by women...each one with their
own fantasy..their own desires.

"Hi, Rusty," he says in a low, pensive,
voice. I could feel the tenseness in his throat.
"Hello, Carl."
"Are you mad at me?" he asks.
"Why?"  What did you do for me to
be mad at you?"
"I thought because I didn't call you...I couldn't..."
he says... a note of chagrin in his voice.
"Whatever's meant to be, will be
between us.  I'm not mad, baby," I say
almost unable to conceal my trembling.
"But you must want to see me if you're
talking to me about it,"
"Is that why you're talking to me
here, now?" I ask.

That moment I dreamed about, fantasized
about for five months stood before me making
its debut in the black of illusion's stealthy
paws.
"Yes," I hear him say, his eyes fixed upon me.
I got up. He followed me. I found a table in the corner
of the club. 
"When?" I asked, feeling my heart pound, my tongue
press to the edge of my teeth.
"When do you...?" he asks.
"Come next Tuesday to my house, okay?" I ask.
"Write down your address for me," he says.
"No. You remember it," as I recite the numbers
slowly to him like their lyrics to a slow dance.
"What time?" he asks.
(Eleven a.m. jumps into my mind)
"How's 11 am?"
"Ok, but I don't know exactly what time...
I have a  doctor's appointment," he says.
Hardly able to breathe, trying to contain my
excitement, I say
"It doesn't matter what time; I'll be there
waiting."

Talk about fantasizing. Seven days spent
mulling over every possible scenario
from midnight madness...satin sheets
our first slow dance, our first taste of lips
mouths...passion's delight...
making love in my bed where no other had
placed body or head, touching his body, what'll I wear,
how he'll look, smell, taste.

The telephone rings. It's him.  Panic strikes. 
"I don't know if I can be there at eleven.  I'll be through
at the doctor's earlier..."
I could feel the tension in his voice, his hesitation.
My heart pounds as I feel disappointment creep
growling at my empty stomach.
"Don't worry about it," I say, trying to sound
calm... assured.
"I'm looking forward to seeing you. Just come
whenever...I'll be here."
"Likewise,"  he says, and we both hang up.

My heart skipped a zillion beats. My breath
lept and I gasped as I released the air held in
between fear's grip and the intense excitement
I was feeling over seeing him... of being close to him.

10:50 a.m.  The doorbell rings.  His black Camaro tinted
all around the glass sits parked in my carport;
He stands 6 feet tall wearing a tight white gym shirt
and sweat pants.  I can feel my face... my temples flushing.
"Hello gorgeous," I say, feeling my knees
losing touch with the rest of my body.
"Look who's talkin,'" he retorts.
"Welcome. Come in," gesturing for him
to step inside.
His C.D.'s  playing  "Unchained Melody"
on my stereo...
the repeat button pressed for continuous play.
I outstretch my arms, hauntingly look
into his ferral eyes and smile that wanton smile
of lust.

Dressed in floor length, black silk shoulder strapped
dress with embroidered different colored flowers
I reach out to him. 

"We've waited long enough," I say  "Dance with me," 
As he comes to put his arms around my waist, to hold me
in his embrace,  I turn my back to him sensually
and wrap his arms around my waist. 
I can feel his passion.  My heart stops. Are we moving?
Paroxysms palpitate against his chest; I smell
his Drakar Noir filling my senses.  I'm dizzy.

As the song ends, so does our first slow dance.
We move to the sofa, pretending not to be in any hurry,
we sit down, together.
I want my body as close as possible to his ...
So with my body and legs across his lap, I wrap my arms
tightly around his neck.
He reaches down, finds my mouth... kisses me.
I'm lost.  Dissolving into a liquid pool  I hear the words
"Is she your wife? Is she the passion of your heart?
The love of your life?" fall from my mouth before I
can stop them.

What in God's name possessed me to ask such
questions!

Kyrie Eleison

Looking me straight in my mascaraed, steely-blue eyes
my mouth only a breath from his I hear him say,
"Why shouldn't she be?" 
Oh my god!  I'm in shock. I'm in hell.
Sickness pervades my essence, my body;
my mind races.  What to do?  What to say? 
How to over-ride...forget I asked thoses question? 
How to forget he said, what he said?

"Then, why are you here, with me?" I ask.
"You're a beautiful woman," he says.

Nothing ever is quite how we play it in our heads.

I will always remember that magical one dance, our indelibly
etched moment-of-passion tattooed across my heart,
and the lyrics of Unchained Melody sung to me and his
secret kiss sent to me from across a dark and lonely room.