Deep music fills the night
Deep in the heart of Harlem.
And
though the stars are bright,
The darkness is taunting me.
-
'Harlem Nocturne' (Music by Earle Hagen)
Oh Lady, Be Good
She arrives in what you think can reasonably be called the rude hours of early morning, when all of the other guests have either gone or are in hiding, and, without a word, helps herself to a saucer of champagne from the bottom of the pyramid. The glittering monument quivers a second, holding for the punchline, the ace up the lady's sleeve. But it isn't that kind of trick.
Invisible splinters catch you on the cheek like claws, and there is mangled crystal suddenly in a thousand wet pieces all over your floor.
Coraline sips her drink. Here is your battlefield.
One, two, three steps to reach her, swipe her hands up in yours. Forcing her back hard into the side of the grand piano. You've waltzed together on this marble, among other, more beast-like, debaucherous acts.
"Is this it?" Pinch the lobe of her ear, the spot where it joins her neck, without breaking the skin, as you tear the silver gown from her shoulders. No need to be gentle. Her back arches over the instrument. Two pairs of hands scrabble for purchase on the polished onyx surface, on clothes, on cool, dead flesh.
"Yes," she mews, breathless, eyes dark as pitch. She sucks the cuts on your face between her red lips, falls on the fresh drops of blood with her tongue like a traitor upon his sword. "Yes, that's what I want."
THE END
14 November 2007
