I dip my head into the oncoming wave, ice-cold, flick my hair back and come up gasping. I look forward, a train ride into a future strewn with delight and expectation. I look back.
Hands chained to an a-frame in a dimly lit room. The french man with the twirled moustache holds the joint just out of reach; I strain and twist for it to meet my mouth.
The train circles the cliffs over the ocean. I absent-mindedly stroke my salty skin, and look back.
I am stumbling through a forest. Moon light speckles the forest floor. My legs have a life of their own, disconnected they are propelled ever forward. Californian bud. I find a hammock (not what I was looking for) gratefully stop and collapse. Time is whooshing past, I am without roots or any idea how to hold still. Last I checked, my mouth was unable to speak. Even if I had found him, and he had felt compelled to assist, I’m not sure I could have asked.
The train wheels squeak. The floating feeling lingers. I see people with fresh eyes, but when they speak to me, my body connects without my spirit. My soul is not here, I may have left it in the forest.
He was on a leash, black rubber. I instructed him to bite my thighs, my neck, to put on a condom and kiss me. I giggled gleefully, until my stomach knotted. He asked me to forgive him and I already had (absorbing the shock of the blow).
The sun glints through the trees, I eat all the blueberries.
I returned home sun-kissed, tattooed, affectionate. Slowly my feet are replaced on the ground. How was it? Amazing, replies my mouth, but perhaps my heart might speak different. I’m not sure what it was, my fifty shades of burning.
Naked but for a black shimmy belt echoing my hips, I worshipped the fire. Again and again I returned panting to the boy in the pan pants, breathlessly repeating I can’t possibly stand up; I’ve danced my soul right out of my body. The ground cut my feet, I lost my shoes and then my clothes. I will find them again, but I won’t mind the time in between then, and now.