A Collector's Prison

I remember the first time I met you. We has class together and I remember you being boisterous in some sessions and melodramatically quiet in some others. I wanted to sit next to you and breathe in utter delight while flames of your perfume drifted across and over me. Your quiet whispers and your gentle gazes would then paint a wondrous finishing touch. I was only imagining all this however. In the cruel reality of my world, I was being ignored as usual. At the team dinner afterward, the story continued in it's unfortunate resonance. I would hide behind the callous laughs and disturbing dinner discussions while wildly glancing in all directions to find you. I would stare angrily at men who had just finished a pleasant discussion with you while not coming up with any significant ideas as to how I could do the same. The long and arduous week passed in a hauntingly similar fashion and I contemplated pinching myself on many an occasion just to reassure myself this was not a nightmare.

I had forgotten about your pale skin, your crimson lips, your wide luscious eyes, and your heart wrenching perfume until I stepped into the famed courtyard. The score was 5-1 and I was down with a game to go before I lost that all-important set and $50 in prize money. I readied my stance, placed the customary two balls into each of my pocket, dropped one ball three times on to the hard green concrete, and looked my opponent straight into the eye before launching the ball seventeen inches into the air. The world froze and I stood transfixed as my stare panned fifty degrees to the left to reveal your gorgeous face. The ball made it's slow slow descent as I had all the time in the world to fiendishly shift my gaze down a long, loving path. Your fragile neck, your supple breasts, your pink skirt, and the wondrous legs it clung to. I was making love to you and you had absolutely no idea. The tennis ball eventually dropped straight onto my head and as I shivered in surprise, our eyes met liked they truly meant it.

We were married soon after. I would never stop loving your beautiful body lying next to me. I would relish waking up with your perfume all over me as I turned the alarm off on another sunny morning. I would think about you whenever I had the time to, and this was on multiple occasions. Your flowing hair could make the rivers weep, your smile could part another couple's embrace, and your eyes could put a diamond to shame. Imagine my complete and utter destruction when you told me you had cancer. I was now on the other side of the world and only thought about taking back Sunday - the day that horrendous medicine man told you about the murderous cells. I wept openly as you slowly deteriorated and became a fragile, hollow, and frightening figure.

As you lay down on my body now, I can only think about the immortal sin I committed a few hours behind. I remember the glass of milk that would soon make up your last supper. The poison in the milk took your soul into a new beginning and will now allow me to find my own bright and forgiving dawn. A tennis game or two might help relieve the pressure of finding another woman to replace you. I yearn to kiss those devilish lips again. I hope to embrace a lithe yet powerful naked body. I want to push away your deathly remnants and evoke an angelic replacement. You may call me wicked and you may call me deranged. All I am doing is finding a new, living, you.

Rest in peace. My darling, my blood, my woman.