These Days in Beauty

The window curtains are for my own amusement, they are sheer and light and move with the slightest wind, and so they are like flags that make this room look rather stately, they flutter against the ceiling when the sea breeze comes and that eases the mind’s sadness, it is a bit like watching the waves of the sea, but where I sit now the air is unperturbed, I feel nauseous and fear the thinness, the lack of air, my lungs hurt a bit and my head is rather light, perhaps there will be rain in the evening, otherwise I’ll drench the bed in sweat again when my old man fiddles the pearl between my legs, the bed already smells of the sun, already smells too human, with hot stoic days and sweltering nights, my skin continues to flake and burn like the parched earth and so it needs oiling glistening with coconut oil and ginger, many happy hours of massage for my own amusement with self-indulgent acts that effectively stun my frolicking mind, yes, you know lately I need such things, such pleasurable acts of prettifying, the gentrification of my ageing body, as such acts silence the bustle of brain, disrupt the vigil of reason, such useless intellections, as life these days is easy making the mind rather superfluous, frivolous, heavy, tomorrow will be a change in the colour of my nails, done in goddess bronze then an overlay of crackle jade and finally an overcoat of lucid gloss to bring out the brilliant bling of China glaze, such expensive beautiful nails what better to accentuate my old man’s phallus when I grasp him, grasp and slide him, ay! for what is life without beauty? why not bring the mesmerising waves of the sea into this stuffy chamber with the lazy flip of a woven fan against the gossamer curtains, as gossamer as the hue of new skin on my belly, how about luscious almond for lips tomorrow such deep dark earthy colours that go with my eyes and my old man’s cheeks, his white skin reddened by tropical suns through palm fronds dappling the garden view, such beauty such refreshing topics of conversation, the growth of silver and chestnut hairs on his chest, the curious shape of his nipples, the grooves on his sweaty forehead and those extraordinarily long growth of brows, these and the large flowers on my hair, these make the suffocating air more bearable, breathable, the floundering mind worth abandoning, yield to the beastly demands of beauty these dark Asian eyes that look at him while I suck and smear my lipstick for the day, lipstick on my nipples they are pretty too, I want to see him when he licks them, don’t close his eyes, I want him to see me seeing beauty, no time for tangling smart conversations to be untangled later in the day when the duties of beauty take all day, take all night, the silver and rubies dangle from my ankles, the gold between my breasts, down my navel to the pearl, these be my amusements when days are stoic as they always are, these days until forever when beauty sleeps in beauty sleeps with death.

Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Tuesday, August 12, 2014

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