poetry and poets

Monday, April 04, 2005

coital kabuki theatre

Samuel Akiva Pui-Ying Huang Skeist

She’d seen me naked dozens of times and had never noticed I never undressed. I know the pattern… intrigue, seduce, embrace, get as close as you can without losing any distance. Keep everything shallow and never lose composure. Keep intimacy raw, glazed in passion’s scent, and always side step any type of attachment. It’s a coital kabuki theatre where deception’s the only rule and no one belongs without ten layers of ruse. But with her, my calm was mere façade. Perhaps, I was just struck dumb by her top pedigree package, trust, the check list of her resume and recipe was a new breed of fantastic. Whatever it was, I’d found depth- the glowing personification of the latex rule’s exception. With her, I wanted to do all those romantic things; feeding her fruit in the bath, massages and breakfast in the morning. I’ve never let anyone into my playground, but her, her I wanted to push on the swings. But that wasn’t her desire. Not some clown with a silly smile that says, “I’m happy just to be around you girl”, all soft and sentimental. No. She wanted that straight forward dude who approached her in the coffee shop. She liked that I drank double black espressos and licked my lips while exhaling smoke from my nose. The first time her and her girl came over I gave ‘em two jelly jars and a 40 to split. She saw me leave with another girl. I came back thirty minutes later and that’s when I got my first kiss. To get the affection of a woman like that, I had to break out my very best masks. You know the deal, make them feel like they see a side of you no one else knows, strong but privately vulnerable, peaceful and confident but not afraid to knuckle up, serious when it’s needed, otherwise funny and cool with jokes and winks, focused and composed but inside hiding some mysterious angst. It’s been tested and proven; some women have a taste for thoughtful malaise. Maybe it’s that whole I can save this one thing, change him and own him- some distorted, primordial, maternal instinct. And here lies the test. The attention is captured…as long as her urge is unattainable. Only natural, I’ve acted in similar ways and it’s quite possible she was simply reversing my silly game. Who knows? But that day came when I had to write the letter. Well, had to send the letter. For these feelings were brewing since her very first poem. I’d filled many a trash can with post marked declarations. When I actually sent this one, I felt happy and liberated. Now, my life’s no PG, rainbows and daisies movie, nor would I want it to be, but just one time, one time, I wanted one of those scenes. I daydreamed of open armed, running on rolling hills slow motion embrace type responses. What I got in return was emphatic rejection garbed in cold silence. I had imagined a finale where the walls were broken down. What I ensured with those words was a place amidst the mortar.