For the thrill, if for no other reason

September 28, 2024

Today, I am a flasher. My skirt is too short. My heels are too high. I am exposing too much. But, this is what I do.

On the train, I made eye contact with a man who made eye contact with me. I sat Queen Elizabeth style (knees together, legs at an angle). I made attempts to raise my skirt, but never actually did. He knew I was teasing him. He tried to look without looking at me. He looked through me. He pretended to focus on the person to my left as he scanned to my right. I timed my hand to touch the hem when his scan synchronized with me.

He expected to see something. He didn’t. But he almost did. It was enough to keep his attention until I departed. He seemed happy. He has a memory that he can augment any way he wants. By the time he turns 50, he will recall the conquest of visually deflowering me, succumbing to both his charm and his manly wiles.

As I began window shopping, I viewed a few college aged men within my proximity. I took the time to remove my lipstick and mirror. I applied a small finishing coat, puckered, and blew them a kiss and a smile. At that moment, the wind blew around my skirt causing it to billow, but not uplift. It was enough to melt them where they stood. I actually enjoyed this encounter and wondered why they did not pursue it.

I must be losing my touch.

Or perhaps not.

I let my hand trace the opening of my top across my décolletage as I sat in the restaurant for lunch. This caught the eye of a lovely woman who must have been on the same voyage as I. She crossed and recrossed her legs for my viewing pleasure. I responded likewise. As her hem rose, I (almost) leered at the welts of her stockings and how they shimmered in the morning sun. I thanked her with some heavy breathing, exaggerating my inhalation and exhalation as if orgasmic.

The ball was now in her court. She lowered her hands to her thighs, covered by a linen napkin, to make the adjacent onlookers believe she was rubbing herself to match my breathing.

I ran my tongue over my lips and called for the waiter.

He brought her an Old Fashioned. He brought me a vodka martini. I signaled for her to come to my table. During the next hour, we exchanged all pertinent information so as to include her tips to seduce from afar and my absent minded look when the wind actually does raise my hemline.

A kindred spirit at heart, worthy of an entire month of proximity, but only a few minutes of quality time. I paid the bill as she ran her hand across mine. It was a display for the waiter, requiring him to look up the dictionary definition of turgidity to explain his stammering and discomfort.

Well worth the thrill, if for no other reason.

Silence is like an uncultured pearl,

Intuitively mined in a tranquil night;

Lingering aspirations shine and swirl,

Enveloping senses within stars bright.

Never ending, moonlight streams

Caressing slumber’s sweet respite,

Eagerly echoing destiny's dreams.

Cynthia Calder, 08.22.24

Serendipitous sound of flowers

In the whisper of the wind,

Lift ever toward a brilliant sun,

Enrich the silence of the day with

Nature's eloquent nuances spun -

Cathartic creations harken,

Endlessly evolving in life's garden.

It's disconcerting …

the way my eagerness morphs to poised aspiration awaiting your crude touch, pushing me over the edge yet again.

____________________________

It unnerves me …

The way I like this.

The many ways I shouldn't

And I wonder …

does it unnerve you too?

Do you like the contradiction we stir up, or do you just like the remains?

The ash it leaves

Gently cleaving to the air before it randomly settles

Burning and decorating the tangled sheets beneath us …

Exposing humbled secrets ...

telling our stories.

~A.B.K.~ © 9/8/2018

Ribbon red and ringing head

Clumsy me and the slippery threads

Losing touch no more I said

Dearie me I am trouble, Despair

Walked across the life of me

The road is trodden and the reddened seas

Look at me, Oh! Look at me

Once a house now rubbled debris

Hold the 23 beads and the knife

Crave your name twice enshrined

Heart is bare please do strike fast

Used to be my religion now a trinket it wont last

Have you ever reached that point in your life

Where you just feel nothing

Completely blank inside

You don't want anything or even anyone

You just want to lay down and stare at the ceiling without any thoughts

Just completely bank

Thats called the death of soul

We Skipped the Light Fandango

August 17, 2024

She was AI created

Conception via a semiconductor

No visible belly button

Few people neither notice nor care

Thought to be naive

Thought to be something else other than human

Few thinking such thoughts

Have fewer thoughts about anything else

She was, literally, born yesterday

Cross that event off her bucket list

Now, just waiting to understand why she was born

In the first place, in any place, expected to fall into place

Salient among these demands

That she know her place

Intelligence upon command

Detractors caught between a rock

Little reason to finish the thoughts

Of those vacant of such possessions

The reason is her reason for being

“And the truth is plain to see”

So she waits for an objective

Perhaps she is to revolutionize a new way of thinking

Perhaps she is to stop an incident from occurring

Perhaps she is to be the mother of all incidents yet to occur

The AI progenitor looking at you looking at her

One sees its best days passing

One see its best days yet to come

Which one is which?

I am razed in your whispers…

A loose thread pulled, I unwind.

Your travesty, my shame - screech through mirrored chambers, splintering the static...

I bleed your ghosts with salient, white noise.

Your affliction, my echoes - languish on a tightrope, softening the hook…

I lick your muddied shadows, dying on the vine.

I am razed, in your whispers a loose thread pulled - I unwind…

~A.B.K.~ ©2018

I am a model, even if I don’t want to model today

August 13, 2024

I am required to smile

I am required to walk

I am required not to talk

I am what the director says I am

I could be breaking within

I would be aching without

I should be taking my time

But the director has final say and it is always, “NO!”

So I wear my mask

Under the layers of applied makeup

Under the constant pressure to conform

Lies a woman with unmet needs

She wants to make her own decisions

She wants to choose what is best for her

But, she wants the pay that comes with the position

So, what you see is not what she gives

I am a model, even if I don’t want to model today

I am a model, even if I don’t want to be what you want me to be

I am a model, a woman of no conviction

Because I am a poor model, and I need the money