zifranka

Must I help you undress? Shall I look on my own What you insist on hiding Things you say I may have If only I dared ask. When what you really mean is if I must. Must I? Is that a quiet plea To be sought To watch as my fingers travel upon yours Because you know not how to begin? Must I help you undress My love I, too, am clothed. (Clothed by you.) Are you waiting? No, you look away. Are you somehow frightened As I am? Should we leave this room And giggle instead There’s always tomorrow I like to watch you try things on When always– You are naked before me; You need only come closer. Or shall I? It makes no difference For I dare n

Things have been awfully quiet lately. The array of events eversince she arrived into the academy had been more or less overwhelming and has subsided into an unsettling, deathly silence; the rituals of humiliation, ceremonies of execution, basically, meant to strip you off your individuality, humanity, everything else that used to matter somewhere else. Pretty soon she won’t even be able to perform simple tasks like preparing tea, maybe. The school gardens seemed like the only place that sembled a part of the outside world. Stretch of topiaries religiously maintained, fruit trees that never seem to bear any fruit. She missed travelling

You are loved, like the last cigarette from the pack. Probably the first of the day Which could very well be the last Or not. Who knows, really, which you are, which you will be. You are sought, you are wanted with quiet longing with surprise and then with much eagerness. That you have remained, You, the cruel reminder the never forgotten the embodiment of a moment of how moments should exist aware, vivid, infinite but not before long You are loved. You are loved for the way I crave, you demand that I gasp for breath take it slow and savour you. You are loved, for a moment, loved quite unlike the rest. You are loved because you, too, shall

“Do you mind if I lit one?”, she lights her cigarette, not waiting for an answer. “Oh, surely not. Not like I’d care if you did.” “This is your house, Madam.” “What a barbed young brat!” she giggles. “Do you smoke?” “I will have one, Madam.” He reaches for his pocket nervously and revealed a thin packet of cigarettes. “Of course! Make yourself comfortable or else I’d shame my profession.” She mutters inaudibly and smiles to herself. Ellenore offers to light his stick, brows way up her forehead with mild amusement. It’s been

I fear— that I am too emotionally-charged, full of unnecessary things (if we must use that adjective) that scare you away Even I would not wish to deal with so many all at once; But you, sweet old you, are ever the exception. I desire not for you to do the same if no such urge begs you For you are not I and still (and because of that, too) with all the heart the screams within me, I love you. These pieces I didn’t know laid beneath they float to the surface And I panic…I— I try to hide them! Instinctively. I don’t know what they are but— I don’t know what they are, you see. Should they be where