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Dog. Eat. Man. Woman.
A pack of wild, unfed dogs linger on the street below. They circle the sidewalk and lay their lice infested bellies in the darkness of hanging car parts. They fear touching their callused paws on the bubbling, hot stone. Your only chance to pass this feeding frenzy untouched is to brave the sunny side of the street as these animals are caged in the shadows. A door opens and the half-horse of a colonel that commands this mercenary pack, pushes himself up on all four. He hobbles into the street and takes note. A man carrying empty propane from the restaurant below. The man wants nothing to do with these beasts; he has a job to do. If it came to blows, my money is on the man in this tussle. By the looks of him, he would be a giant with a baseball bat beating on a bunch of three-legged, baby bears. Finding himself a sunny spot to shield himself, the man walks near to a cancer-ridden hound gnawing off his own leg. He deposits the containers in the back of his truck. The dogs sense his determination and return their sandpaper tongues to the ground hoping to scrape breakfast from the bones about them. Time to eat. People pass by. I am here. Sitting at a cafe. Taking my coffee and sweet bread. Surrounded by summer beauty. She saunters in slow motion. It has been three weeks and my skin is darkening with each passing day. This island is hot and I feel the sweat between my shirt and skin. It is weekend morning. And I should be in bed waking with the warmth of a woman's body next to me. My eyes follow her. Her hips circle the square of Piazza Universita. And she is gone. I stare down at my granita and brioche. The Brioche is shaped to the perfect Italian breast. A bulbous mold with a swollen nipple on top. Covered by a brown sugar glaze. Sweet to the tip of the tongue. I suck on the soft bread before swallowing and spoon an ample amount of icy, almond milk granita into my mouth. It thins my blood, until she passes again. Holding a cigarette to mouth, she exhales the devilish smoke from her soul. The other hand holds place on her hip. Black sunglasses tight to her face, like the blonde hair to her head, the shirt to her breasts and the pants to her bottom. I want her. I want to put my hands on her hips and have her playfully remove them as she dances around the room in her bra. Underpants half covering her ass. I want her to tease me and remove her bra. Hands covering breasts. I want to see her reflection in the mirror. As the candle flickers light. Near to the bed. I want to kiss her. Full lips. Locked. As we crash on the bed. She smothers me. I smother her. To finish. Full arms and body one. I finish my breakfast. They All Want to Be
Post 5 - July'05 Back to home...
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