Sunday, November 22, 2009

Sweat Equanimity

I woke slowly to a hot, humid room and the sweet-sour scent of sweat and stale perfume. My eyelids were heavy, my tongue dry and lightly abrased.
I made coffee before she left, just after sunrise. She kissed me on the cheek, a sweet, fleeting familiarity, as I leant on the front door frame and said goodbye. We made no promises to see each other again.
I flopped onto the daybed in the studio and stared out to sea. A whiff of freshly ground coffee mingled with the acrid enamel vapours. My head throbbed – red wine and psychotropic medications don't mix – but more pleasurably, so did other parts of my body.

I decided to take the rest of the day off. The lack of tension in my muscles was almost sensual.
I padded down the hall to my bedroom: white sheets, the smell of freesias and a Moroccan bowl full of sex toys welcomed me back.

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