Son of a-!
...sheik...
I
Temple
Sanctuary
God-House
Theatre
Matinee
Women
She
(my gal)
has a laugh
like a
(cliched)
tinkling
of
bells.
And a slight
musk of
attar of
roses
that I
(only
slightly)
despise.
I look
askance
as she
leans
forward
beaming
and chatting up
the all the
chatty
Women
in the row in front,
in back,
behind.
tinkle
tinkle
tinkle
"Wanna stick-a Wrigley's, sweetie?"
she abruptly
and with her shining white grin
inquires of me.
Lovely.
I nod and smile.
She fishes through
her beaded handbag
for her offering.
"Only got spearmint, tho'.
That okay?"
I nod and smile.
Unsheath,
unwrap,
chew,
chew,
chew.
"Quiet tonight, ain'tcha?"
"Yep!"
I wink and smile.
tinkle
tinkle
I watch
as she carefully doffs
her cloche
like a bridal veil
and lays it
upturned,
her bag tucked within,
in her lap,
and smooths
her supple
tidal weaves
that glint
and ripple
in the dim
theatre light.
Lovely.
II
They're
all are here
for worship,
of course.
For him.
And I,
the only Man here
(or as much of a Man
as I can be)
as far I can see,
allowed to witness
their Bacchic orgies,
or Vestal rites,
or kaffee-frei
klatches...
HAH!
Ha! Ha! Ha!
No!
Nonono,
I kid!
I'm a kidder!
It's really nothing
like that
at all...
obviously...
not...
quite...
Then down go
the lights
and the chatter
oh-
so-
gradually
ebbs.
"Hushhhh!
Shhh!
Shhh!
SHHH!!!"
Smooth
upturned
faces,
wide-eyed
expectation...
The Wurlitzer organ
shatteringly
peals
and booms
an overture
as the curtain
sweeps apart
and bi-chromatic
words and images
shimmer and flicker
on the big movie screen
I won't look at.
So
I pick pensively
at the crown
of my boater
nestled in my lap.
She notices
and arrests
my fingers,
stuffs
her cloche and purse
inside my hat.
Then the honeyed whispers,
the playful cheek peck.
"Thanks, hon!"
The shining white grin.
And I just happen
to glance up...
And there...
The Desert Adonis...
The Sheik's Son...
Him...
Oh,
Kyrie
Eleison...
I don't,
I won't look.
And
for over
an hour
the Women
scream like banshees...
sigh like Juliets...
moan like Catherines
the Great...
My
God...
The
power...
Soon
her honeyed whispers,
her sultry breaths
and garish
libidinousness
spill into
my ear,
and she...
she...
sheehhuuhhhh...
III
Tug, tug
Later
after the film's
happy ending
has been assured
and all are
filing (swiftly)
out
I am still
in my seat,
and
I wonder,
so what do I do
with this gift
she's giving me?
Did I earn it?
Can I enjoy it?
How can I
when I'm just
a proxy
for a
suave
Castellanetan
demigod?
Aren't I -
I -
enough,
and
will I ever be enough
for her?...
I feel her hovering,
still tugging Morse code
on my coat lapel.
With a sigh,
but not without
some (a lot of)
inner
inner
excitation,
I rise
and
flick a vulgar gesture
at the mute,
blank screen,
making her gasp.
tinkle
peck, peck
"Grazie, signor."
Out.
DB/2.2021
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!💖
(Personal to KC): Still working on that pen-pal letter (sorry it's taking so long). Got a year's worth of HPL news, etc. to write about and details to iron out.
Happy, happy V-Day to you and D!💕
