“That’s where it’s beautiful. Tastes and sounds and feels.” And then that’s it. Circles on my throat. Mouth dry. Stars in her eyes, finger on my skin. Bat Eyes.
She lets me follow her home, right into her room. It’s a rainbow. Velvet cushions, silk bedspread, curtains made of organza. Flowers – crisp and fresh and sweet. Tinkly things and water sounds. A chugging fan. A leather desk. Things to touch and smell and hear – everywhere. And I don’t know where to start. What to touch. If I’ve imagined it all. And if I have, why am I here? Why did she invite me? All that, swimming round, while I’m looking into her bat eyes. Waiting for them to come alive again. To do something. Anything. Beat. He runs his fingers around the outline of his lips. I didn’t think that was something you do to a boy. But she does it. She touches all around my lips, and then her bat eyes flash. They really properly flash and she says, “Just once. Souvenir.” Beat. And before I can think any more, she’s pulling me on top of her. Kissing my dry mouth. Finding skin under clothes. Ready, both of us, to lose it together. The poem is moving under our skin, in our eyes – “and bending down beside the glowing bars” – words pulling us into each other. Their flash, their stars. And then it’s over. She rolls around and says “Thank you” to the wall and I don’t know what to say. I reach out to turn her round, to see her bat eyes again, and she won’t let me. There’s a bloodstain on the bed
Little Love ©Jessica Bellamy, 2010
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