Challenge Submission My Unexpected Gift.

[Brigand]

Written to something.

I was laughing, smiling, moving through the bar;
She was dying, crying, sitting in a corner doing shooters.
I saw her and winked; and she looked at me and blinked.
To her credit, she actually sat up a little and reached for her make-up.

Baby, why cry? It's around midnight. There's still time. And you've not met a guy like me.
So coming by you, I sit just across and pretend to smoke a cigarette; yet I can feel--
The eyes of you, the darkness under them;
The hinting sensation, waiting for me to give way.
And pulling back, I turn my head and see:
You now staring, lips against a straw.

''Hey,'' I see you say; too quiet to hear over the music.
I only smile, wave and turn to my drink.

''Hey,'' I hear a little sharper, now closer, you've moved to the end of the galley; shoulders extended,
''Who're you?'' You ask, fingers clenched on the end-table, straw perched between your lips, sucking violently.

''Someone,'' I say.
''Someone who?''
''Someone like you.''

From then on it's the corner club for us, the hot seat, the place behind the glass; your hands tucked up against my collar and your eyes drowning in mine.
Another shooter,
Then another;
A second shot of vermouth,
And a second half of gin,
Both totally worth it, except when the room starts to spin.

''You see,'' I say, ''I kinda felt like I knew you when I first walked in;''
''This is a game, boy,'' come the words from your lips, ''you never felt that from me.''

I laugh. God how I knew you would argue.
''How do you know so much anyway?'' You ask, slamming down the glass, the straw dripping.
''You're easy to figure out.'' I murmur.
''Thanks!'' You say tartly, kissing your lips.

And leaning over, I take your chin;
And gasping, you look up and blink.

From then it's all hard kisses and wet avenues, dark alleys and the rough-seat of my motorcycle;
And gasping, your little body, stretched thin beneath a silk tank, has finally begun to breathe
So I take the skeleton that is you and nurse her in my palms;
And dying, you kick your legs up and press them to my ribs.

''Kill me. . ." She whispers.
''But don't wake me up . . . !''

You see, you like the drama;
But fuck, so do I.
Because there are no Romances like this
True Reality, Thick Like Blood
I want to lick the serum from your lips.

So gingerly, I ask if you want to come home?
Whilst combing your hair against my fist.
''Yes,'' you hint:
''Please. . . .''

Back home, we're in the sheets;
But you're too innocent to follow instinct
So I just make you a hot chocolate drink.

''Baby,'' I rasp
''Yes . . . !'' You lisp.
''Forever?''
''And more . . . !''

You see, I found you under studio nights and knew you'd been slaughtered by other guys,
So lying in my bed in pink, your pitch-black hair pooling in the sheets;
Finally I've rescued you from the brink.
Couldn't create a prettier picture on a Polaroid.

So kiss me baby before you go,
Here, reach out your hand for this;
And tucking it between your fingers, I give you something I wrote last night whilst I rolled that cigarette:

''Hey. My name is Damien. And I happen to think you're really cute. When you come home with me tonight, know I never wanted to play you, or even make love to you;
I just wanted to make you feel safe.''

''This is my unexpected gift,'' I murmur;
And with a little hiccup, you throw yourself at me:
''René.'' You say,
(''My" gift, I think.)
''My name is René...''

* * *

And holding you down,

I tuck you between the sheets;

Dark angel, angelic mainly in misery

But as the oil runs off, only White remains

Her feathered wings have been sealed to her back from the scars men have made

Yet taking her fingers between the dust of my own,

I kiss away the pain like my Mother showed me to

Because when it all comes down to it, René...

I can heal you:

It's as simple as saying three words,

And maybe one day you'll hear them

If you can treat me like this too.



''Hey. How do I know if I actually love you ...?'' You say.

''Baby, only you can know; but if you ask me, it's when I make you feel—''

''Safe. . ."


And cuddling my hand, you push it down into your face

Musing on this time and this place

So serious, a pout forms

And just smiling, I kiss you from your eye to your ear

Silently wondering if this is true

And if I can now be vulnerable too

Because there's nothing more I'd like to do,

Than to place your hand against my back,

So you can feel my scars too.



Baby, there's nothing more I'd like to do,

Than to place your hand against my back,

So you can heal my scars too.

With your passion, and your strength, held in your arms, with your lisp;

I want to feel like a girl,

And you can be the boy

So we can both become more;

A man and a woman.

René, only by losing sight of what we were

Can we become who we are.