A Room

A room full of red and white eternal roses. Victorian era themed furniture decorate the gothic hall, along with crimson velvet long heavy curtains. Marble floor, shiney and clean and a large mirror with a fine golden frame on the Northern wall. And on the Eastern, a map that tells the story of unknown men from distant orphaned lands and dark black oceans. Only the candles light this gloomy place. For daylight never enters. The candles are all the same - Simple, white and long. Pure, like a child's innocent laughter. One large candle sits at the corner, different from the rest of its brothers. Large and green, scented. It fills the room with the smell of misted forests and earth. Sculptures lurking all around. Ice maidens possesing dead souls and hearts of gold. They dream of silent screams and watch over liars as they decay in filth and dust. Smiling an eternal mischievous smile, never revealing their erotic secrets.

I come to this room each night. In this room, your room - You lay. And I lay with you.

I approach the large Cross, hung on the Southern wall, and wonder of its bearer's sins and confessions. I then turn and look at your bed. Your dark mahogany bed, hand made at my order - Just for you. You lay there, milkey white skin and dark silkey black hair. You wear the dress I bought you. A long black dress, with a specially made royal corsette and silver threads woven into it. Just the way you like. Simple, elegent, dark and mysterious.

I place my hand in yours and toy with your fingers. Your nails are sharp as I've left them. You know thats how I've liked them always. When my fingers are done with their games, I gaze into your eyes, and kiss the back of your hand. The same as I've done so many years ago, when I first met you. Your blushing cheeks have lost a bit of their rose colored tint, but that does not excuse my lust for you that still thrives within me. I place my right cheek on your chest and let my head rest there, listening to your silent heartbeat.

Aching for your voice to call my name.
Aching for your warm embrace.
Aching for your lips to strech and smile as you see me approach.

But all I have left are your cold dead lips on mine, as you rest in the perfect eternal home I have made especially for you, and endless painful unfulfilled fantasies of you and I.

Forever is your breath, that was taken so long ago from me.

(c) Michelle Koren, 2005