Tell me your deepest darkest secrets; I’ll dig into the depths of you. I’ll hold you hostage by your own preconceived ideas of your reflection. Then I’ll let you shed them like you never said anything. I’ll let you begin, again and again and again. It’s a blank canvas where I stand. I know this is threatening. I know you think I’ll remember. But the truth is I forget everything that isn’t felt by my own skin. If you didn’t touch me in saying it, it was never said. 

I stand by a puddle in my courtyard. I close my eyes and call it a river. It sounds like a brook. It smells like moss tinted with chlorine. It feels like your eyes are all over my naked skin. I have a short layer of cotton under my baggy jeans. I have a silicone cock strapped to a white strap under that. Its difficult to hide how stiff it remains. I can hardly expect man-made desire to dissipate. Its manipulative tendencies are everlasting, this was intended; this was created. Will you still create? If you knew that you were responsible for everything real, would you still move in and out of monotonies like they were created for you? Do you blame the inevitable? Do you believe in fate? Have you every tried defying destiny for yourself. Or do you believe every word they say stands for every word they say it is? Too many questions perhaps. No, certainly too many, this is absolutely absurd, all this nonsense; I’m spitting on your brand new tablecloth. I’m drooling in vain.

‘I cant imagine, inviting you to dinner at my mums was never in the question. Do you think she will flip when she hears how nasty you’ve become?’

‘Become? Portia, mum never set eyes on me. For all she knew I never existed. For all she knew was what was said of me. How could she compare a feeling with what was never felt? Would she define a sensation before feeling it in her mouth? She’s a painter. I think not!’

She puts her golden fingers over my lips as we step to the entrance. ‘Stop yelling Demian. You look handsome enough, but your brutal language and your insensitive tongue will be the death of you if you aren’t careful. Behind this door is the beginning. I started here. If I invite you into my history, you must act civilized. You must succumb to civilization if you are to love me. You must leave the lust for my body on the steps outside. I don’t want any part of my presence to sense your desire. Do you understand? I will not gift myself to you like a lamb, to be sheered for your warmth; rung up with a bell to be sounded at your pleasure. I must be won! Step up your game. You’ve lost twice today! And against V! Will he surpass you and take the children somewhere you cannot see?’

‘My dear, I want nothing to do with your fleshy plane of existence or your dreadfully boring sermons. Preach babe! I will certainly listen. But wanting you has came, bowed before, and ran away laughing insidiously. I want nothing to do with you P. Lets go in! I’m starving.’ The door swings open before any pressure is applied. She looks me up and down, catches me dead in my eyes and doesn’t break away; speaking to her daughter beside me, ‘so this is the boy? So it’s my approval you’re out to manipulate? Is that a fact?’ I think she may be addressing me now, but I’m entirely uncertain. I turn to Portia and use her silent permission to move pass them both like the place belongs to me. I started talking into an empty room; they follow the sound of my voice ‘It’s hardly a matter of fact. In fact, the matter itself can never rest fully in an elevation of factuality. What is indeed fact to me is not even close to the same shade of blue that you see when you pull your neck back and stare straight up. Guide my body when you do this. Place me in perfect alignment with the galaxies that you are reflecting, there’s nothing I want more than to know you. I’ve noticed; you’ve turned your face to my body at play. I noticed you have no desire to look away. I noticed you saying the same things I say as they are falling off my own tongue. I see you feeling everything. You’ve known loneliness, haven’t you? You’ve found your reflection, and frozen with grief and terror, you looked anyway. I’ve been noticing the intimidation dissipate by your unwillingness to ignore fate. How completely willing to pursue this state are you, before you give it all away and scream bloody murder? How much longer can you hold two faces in one shadow? How much of yourself do you need? Are you waiting to sacrifice the remains? Is it a matter of currency? If I paid you, could I take the parts that you’ve given yourself permission to offer to the highest bidder? If I told you that money was constructed from the creator who gave away his reflection completely, would you still let me take you if the number was right? If I took everything away from your immediate surrounding sensations and starting walking toward your naked frame, would you give me every inch of your flesh just because I’m asking? I have nothing but skin and bones and soul: I am asking to be taken. It must be your move. But you must know, I want you.