‘Order: Che sarà, sarà’
You woke me in the night and again this morning.
I see you everywhere I go even though you have not walked the streets of my neighbourhood. I hope you will. One day soon. With me.
A week. In the beginning my being was without form, and void, and darkness was written on my face. 7 days. Brief touches as fingers collided over the table. You always smiled at me. Day four saw you start to wink at me upon my arrival in your world. A great light shone. It was good; the secret began to slip away.
Day seven: when I left without even your name. You held my hand (and my heart, but you may not have known that then). A handshake is known as a gesture of politeness, to me our meeting hands was about reaching into your space and letting you into mine as our skins held each other tightly. On purpose. With the sole intention to touch, be touched, and be at one. The barriers were broken right down as the wall around my heart quietly lay down and freely gave all to you. With my open hand (and heart) I give you my ticket that requests you to ‘Please roll all over my grass’. I have opened my body garden to you in its entirety. This is my etiquette. I invite you to make it yours. You are not in Versailles, in Louis XIV’s garden, you are in mine. Please step in and blossom. I will mirror you.
Skin on skin. From foreign to familiar. It is a miracle. From the epidermis through the dermis and directly past the subcutaneous tissue until it found its dock. Water cannot penetrate this skin, oil cannot penetrate it. It holds blood, bones, tissue and organs in place. But your skin touching my skin. Your look meeting my look. Simply complex matters that made it impossible for my skin to hold desire within me. It burst out like a tornado at the first sight of you. Lust sped soundlessly ahead and was swiftly followed by love and yearning. I tried, vainly, to peg them down but the whirlwind that swept through my heart had picked them up from the depths and rushed forward to you. My natural covering had so long hidden my heart. You peeled my membrane back as easily as opening a ripe banana. Soft and pliable I waited, and hoped, for you to enter my skin. I waited for you to close the gaping wound in me without leaving any scars.
You kissed me. You kissed me and I accepted your kisses. How willingly I accepted those kisses. You kissed me on my cheeks; once on the left and once on the right. I kissed you back. We both gave and took. I have been conquered by your kiss. I surrender.
Before you blessed me I was well known for only kissing once, against current social convention. Avoidance of overt physical contact has been my norm. But I was hungry for you so those two kisses were like a drop in the ocean of my desire. I am glad that you are Italian. I can pass off my acceptance of your continental greeting as behaving like the locals, fitting in. How I want to fit right in to you.
My guarded body is released to you. Others have mounted expeditions to slash and rip into my body. I have given you free access and the key. I admit you into my confidence. I invite you to interpret and know my body before you ever think of letting go.
Hundreds of minutes away from me and yet I can still feel your touch, the downy hairs on your cheek brushing mine as your lips move from one side of my face to the other. Lingering … Those moments have lasted for over a day now. Was this total contact longer than 10 seconds? But how long does it take to change a life? I am still holding on to your hand, or are you holding on to me? The firm but gentle grip is there. The pressure is equal from both sides, or is that my imagination? I did not expect even a handshake goodbye as I thanked you, but to my delight you leant forward and my heart exploded. A kiss. Two. A natural action for you? A dream come true for me. I was at last so close to you. My knees wobbled as it took all of my concentration to hear your words above the sound of my heart beating like the entire drum division at the Edinburgh Tattoo. The torrents of blood rush recklessly through my head as we float in our waking dream. I can now feel your hands reach up to my shoulders and hold me as you move around me. Your scent has frozen me. You are my dawn and my fresh spring. Somewhere the daffodils are swaying in the gentle breeze to celebrate this birth. I perfectly reflect the position of your hands by the location of mine on your body. My hands meet behind your slim back gently making small folds in the loose white shirt that covers you. My arms cradle you against my chest for a while, a sweet perfect, but so brief, while. Our eyes are closed, but I can see you perfectly. I can always see you. I rest, at peace, my atonement.
Suddenly, I am aware of people around me, around us. We have been suspended in a weightless tunnel that reaches from the core to the light white clouds that float freely above the mountain peaks outside the window and down across the red and black tiled terrace to sweep silently, with their reflections, across the lake. The room seems noisy as the suspended crockery clatters back together. Cup nestling in saucer. You nestling in me. The waves have continued to lightly rock the sail-less boats that hug the shore waiting for the right moment to leave with the wind.
With that kiss you pulled me in. Again.
The first time was when you came to the table and smiled, even though you were obviously tired; you were performing solo until that time. Your eyes smiled along with your mouth, and my heart leapt to greet you as I forced myself to sit still even though you were rapidly pulling me into your soul. De Balzae was right, there are no little events in the heart. And my heart can see correctly. I see you. You are essential to me.
You kissed me into the greatest joy and simultaneously bid me farewell; that was the paramount wrench of sorrow.
Now you are not where I can see you. But then, for those 7 days, during our genesis, I encountered and savoured you twice a day. Mealtimes were exciting. The meals were terrible. I had no interest in mere food. But my eyes followed your every graceful movement through that hall. I rushed to get there both morning and evening to share space with you. You performed a daily waltz between the tables. I was spellbound and reluctant to leave even when the lights were eventually dimmed.
My appetite disappeared and was replaced by a different hunger. Sated on you I would sleep restlessly awaiting the break of my fast from you. Never to be disappointed you rose before me and were always there.
What can I offer you? I do not know. All I know is I want and need you. I desire you all the time. I want to see you every day, everywhere, especially where I am. Do you even know that I exist? It cannot be otherwise for me. The other case cannot exist. You whispered ‘Che sarà, sarà’. I saw the tears in your eyes as you said ‘thank you’. The tears surprised me into a higher level of consciousness even though at that moment I was also struggling to contend with the fact that my whole body was at war with itself. I noticed those drops of water wash over your brown obsidian pupils and push their way pass your flickering eyelashes, and I wanted to put my hand to your face and gently gather them up, to keep them as part of me, to absorb them into my skin, as I want to take you in, to taste them, to taste you. Why did you cry? I wish I knew. I wish I knew so much. About you; about my fear at asking your name; about why I didn’t follow my instincts and leave my contact details on a piece of paper that I was supposed to have pressed into your hand and that you could, even now, as I breathe your memory in, hold close to your breast, where I would like to be. Now.
Why did you thank me? What have I done for you? I pray that it is what you have done for me. I thought you had been avoiding me this morning, but now I know that you have been trying to save yourself. I want to save you. Let me save you, please. And I will let you save me. Need to be saved. Need you. Not used to the rawness of desire but you have ignited my insides and only you can control the raging fire. I am sorry that I need you so much, but I am glad that you feel it too.
Impulse tells me to find a way to get back to you before you disappear forever from our shared space leaving me with nothing but flat memories and this incredible void in my soul. 641 miles separate us and I do not understand how I managed to leave my heart behind me. I ripped myself from you hands and faltered my way to the plane. It was your touch that anaesthetised me. I lost all power. My body was on automatic. There was no clear thought available to me. I have cursed time and responsibilities for over 24 hours. All the way back here my centre has bled. Only you can transfuse me.
I think only of you. I see only you. I need only you. Then I can begin.
I have looked at images of where you are right now, but they are flat: especially as you are not in them. Your form exists only in my mind and in your separate reality.
When you rush in and disturb my mind I feel the immediate plummet and ascent begin in my abdomen. The impulses have raced from my brain to twist and turn my containment. No balance remains. All mineral equilibrium has fled from my control tower and agitates my being. The movement initiates at assorted points and omnipotently sweeps all cognisant thought aside. You roller-coaster through me with total control; outside and in. Just a thought…
I am light-headed and my blood force is plunging. My time is arrested as I eagerly savour you. You.
My memory echoes a sad lament as I remember. For me you amazingly breathed life into the whole room and directly into my quickened heart. As you fluttered from point to point the short red waistcoat elicited a glow like everlasting embers and your warmth bathed over the hall. I felt jealous that others were sharing in your beauty. I wish I had King David’s power and position so that I could be with you again now. I could watch you for days and then share the murmurings of my heart with you at night. It is finished. We will be set apart together. I make you mine. I choose you. You have completed me.
© Marjorie H Morgan 2012