Under the Influence of Mrs. V – a poem

Under the Influence of Mrs. V

 

We find ourselves in a sad hotel room

The color palette of sadness is brown – beige

With the persistent aroma

Of strangers, cleaning products

And that faint cigarette smell

That refuses to die in rooms smoke-free for decades.

 

We sit next to each other

On the mustard colored couch

I brought Mrs. V with me, he says

To keep us company

We give in to Mrs. V, times three for me

Mrs. V times four for him.

 

Our heads are weightless

We go lie down in a bed we don’t own

I rest my head on his shoulder, touch his skin

And rest my eyes on his freckle farms for arms

I have grown to love

But he doesn’t know that.

 

I am in a state of constant amusement

Haha funny this and funny that

Forming full sentences and making sense are chores I refuse

I avoid thinking, I can only feel

The warmth, the softness of his skin

I close my eyes, I am starting to float.

 

I float on and on

Like every summer on familiar warm waters

With skin burning under the Mediterranean sun

It feels smooth and effortless, I float on

And we talk about babies and puppies

As we always do when we reach certain heights.

 

Mrs. V is deep into me

Her presence strong and intense

He is running his fingers over my body

Intensity and arousal at the tiny point of contact

How it would be to make love, I wonder

With Mrs. V our common mistress, our savior.

 

My skin starts moving, expands and contracts

An army of monkeys jumping out of my skin

I float on, the monkeys linger

I close my eyes, I fall into Morpheus’ arms

But my sleep interrupted by

Itchy skin, needy for scratching attention.

 

Face, leg, arm, every body part is an itchy scream

What is wrong baby he asks

With his softest voice

Is this normal I ask

What is happening to me

Tiny creatures are crawling out of my skin.

 

I move back in to a sleeping mode

My dreams intense in colors saturated and rich

We are together in a field of wheat, he’s tied to a rope

We struggle to run away from the dreaded man

I have a knife with me, I see

We come to a stop, I need to cut the rope.

 

It is taking a long time, the knife angle is all wrong

I reposition the knife, I cut the rope faster

But it is still too late

The dreaded man has caught up

He snatches the knife from my hand

Raises his arm and buries the knife deep into me.

 

One, two, three stabs

My mouth is agape but there is no sound

Mrs. V will bring you high and push you low

She will desert you in the mercy of jumping monkeys

And knife wielding men

A cruel, betraying mistress, without remorse, without fail.

 

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