only heat makes the flowers wilt

The world is black. He stands before me like the false idol he is, still and strong, repulsive but with a glimmer to attract, to make me curious. The shadows dance. He picks me up and I feel limp, like the hibiscus flowers outside my window, wilted in the heat.

I went to Hawaii, once. There were hibiscus flowers everywhere. Maybe it was the season, or maybe that’s perpetual. I got lost between the legs of people. There were lots of flowers, the strong pulse of the drums and smells of sweat and smoke, with a sweet undercurrent. A man with parrots on his shoulders was playing cards. The birds were yellow, orange and green and the cards were hand painted. He handed me the Queen of Hearts and told me to guard mine with everything I had and not to steal too many. Hearts that is.

The night is long. I feel his strong hands between my ribs, his fingers filling the gaps in the bone. He places me on my feet and touches my face. Only now, standing on my pedestal can I see him completely, see his soul. Through his jet black eyes with their diamond glimmer I see flames and fire, canyons and cliffs, roads and rivers. Through his eyes everything is jagged and sharp. Through his eyes I see what he wants, why he is here.

He lowers me down and lies above me. I will be bruised tomorrow, the cheap souvenir to remember this. He kisses me roughly and puts his hands all over me. There is a scream from a person that is no longer me, then, there is silence.

I feel empty like a glass, transparent too. I think about veils, white, buttons still to be undone, innocence. I wish I was pure again, untouched. He is gone now and I lie on the cool wooden floor, shaking at the thought of his next visit.