Her eyes were supernaturally black, her pupils seemed larger and more captivating, she held his gaze like a fly trapped in a metaphorical spider web; transfixed by invisible silken beams of attraction and lust, something in his mind was warning him that what was happening was very wrong, a waking dream? A nightmare? It made no difference to her but he felt the need to bolt, he tried to move, to turn and run, and in his mind he was sprinting down the blackened asphalt with the ‘slap, slap, slap’ sound of the souls of his shoes hitting the ground as he sprinted... but he was unable, in reality he was transfixed by her, restrained, and she knew what she was doing, part of this aroused him, he was being dominated by a deadly stare, a lady, a creature, more powerful than him, he had never known such humility. She had bewitched him completely from that first Crimson kiss earlier at the bar, where her lipstick still remained smudged into the intricate creases of his lips, a cracked path of desire, a corporal hook that began the wishful thinking of her prey as he meandered blindly and willingly into her ruse until it was too late, that moment of fleeting choice, that fork in the road that all too soon becomes the sharpened enamel spikes of the forbidden, and as those spikes penetrated the soft tissue of his neck, he didn’t care that moments ago he wanted to flee, instead he gave himself willingly to her, stumbling blindly into the unknown...

Copyright Notice © Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

I stumble through the dark night

Stars gleaming in the sky

Lipstick the color of wine smudged across my lips

A fork still clenched in my fist

The blood of a dead man on my hands

The stench of wine flowing from my dress where he had spilled it

The memories of his screams ringing through my head

His hands that clawed at my face, leaving gashes that no longer sting

My shoes hurt my feet

I take them off, cast them aside

Walking the path bare foot

Each step feels like stepping on broken glass

Collapsing on a park bench

My eyes closing

The world fading to black

Tomorrow I will wake

Only if I have the strength.

Black dress draped upon your floor

Shoes lost a long time ago

Lipstick, smudged upon your neck

Surrounded in passion's kiss

You stumble, trying to undress

As I get drunk on your whiskey lips

Exploring gently with warm fingertips

Setting a fire, we won't forget

Collapsing onto your bed

Soon to be drenched in sweat

Body aching, please don't stop

Lose ourselves in each other's pace

Wrapped in your embrace

Until the sky is lit with the morning's rays

Then the spell of the night is broken

Hangover headache mixed with regret

As you and I realize what we did

The sky smells of firecrackers and stale wine

The wind is limp and damp with memories

Smudging my brow with the worries it carries

Eyes black as your window these past months

God, how I miss you

Even your fidgets

Even your constant lists

Maybe

Here the earth is unsteady, the hills stumble across the horizon with untried shoe laces

How dare you leave me here

With this fork in my side

With your promise in my eye

Your lipstick smeared across my ceiling

I'm broken from believing

And now my chest is heaving

With the knowledge you're never coming home

Worn, dusty shoes

Carried her here.

Stumbling, tripping, falling all the way.

Skies mourned with the puddles for her loss-

While the trees whispered their condolences with the wind.

Her path forked,

Giving her a decision.

Right or left.

Right or wrong.

Start

or

End.

A choice; her's to make

Her's to lose.

Her's to live with.

Eyes, black-

Tears smudged mascara,

Blurring her vision.

Faint lipstick kisses dotting her skin, fading away with her broken spirit.

Greasy hair,

Unwashed body,

Long fingernails-

The marks of someone who's given up.

She gave up-

No more decisions.

No more failures.

No more mistakes.

Her fork in the road would have to wait for another day,

A different day,

Not today.

Black shoes

Lipstick the color of a sky

A sky, a broken sky

Smudged by rain and dots of white

Gray stumbles through

The desolate landscape

Wishing for a wish

A wish that it could wish upon

To leave

With black shoes upon

Gray feet

Sky-blue lipstick

Eats food, material tangible food

From a fork made from gold and copper

Zinc pennies too, are

Fakery, fakery, fakery

Just like the wish

That doesn't exist

Not at all over there

Or even over here

The same gray lies lay and lie

And the same gray will follow.

Over, under, and over again...

Swirling black clouds smudged the sky a sinister and foreboding sneer. The morning wore a blotchy smeared lipstick; the soldier wore warpaint and bullet holes. Rain reappeared only to peer down its nose at them all. They had reached a fork in the road, broken in half - the infantry would struggle taking the first rock littered path, the horses were ill equipped for the second boggy, marshland path.

Retreating what was left of the army from a bloody battle the general committed the men on horseback, to the rocks and the infantry on foot, to the marshes. He reapplied camouflage paint on his face and his final gravely spoken instruction reaffirmed an unsaid agreement in the minds of the men - should a single shoe or a single hoof stumble now then it would cost the lives of them all.

The night was young and the sky was gray. Rain appeared to be on the horizon but it was too soon to tell. She couldn't wait to arrive at the dinner party. It had been so many years since she'd seen his face. So many thoughts raced through her mind. What did he look like after all these years? Would he still remember the past?

The car came to an abrupt stop. Her black wedged shoes hit the pavement with a click clack sound that she hoped to silence as she walked near the door. Her lipstick felt heavy. Red and matte, she found it on sale and purchased it specifically for this event.

She wondered how she would feel once this encounter was over. Being down on herself was a habit she was trying to break. It was the by product of so many broken promises from her past. She probed her internal voice and told herself things would work out fine.

As she entered the restaurant she was in awe of the ambience. Hushed voices, intimate encounters, the soft clinging of forks and knives. Looks of love and celebrations of special occasions draped the atmosphere. She gently lifted her head to survey every inch of the scene.

Her scan provided no result. After checking in, she decided to wait in the lobby. A quick brush over her lips with her hand removed the smudges of lipstick in the corners of her mouth. Her mouth was dry and her stomach felt weak. She rehearsed what she would say praying she wouldn't stumble over her words.

Shortly thereafter, he walked in.

Her smudged fluorescent pink lipstick

Stained my white collar

“No matter, it arouses my libedo

A trophy stain of conquest.”

Fearing we’d be late to the concert

I hurriedly pushed her black, high heeled

Stiletto shoes onto her

Beautifully sleek feet

Covered in satin gray,

Stockinged splendor

Rising upward to her

Slim ankles

Up her Shins,

Her calves

To succulent thighs

Arousing my senses to the point

Where I almost pulled her up onto

The bed, enveloping her again

In passionate positions of love holds, yet

Regrettably caught between

Each other’s longing to be together

And friends waiting for us

At our mutual rendezvous

The night is pitch black

As we take each other hand-in-hand

And step into the void

Street lamps light our path on the walk

To the subway station in San Francisco City

The sky holds bright

White sparks of light

Stars shimmering in the stark and cold

Brittle air of December’s store

“We’re late,” she lamented

Softly in my ear.

Fluorescent light illuminates the car’s interior

Passengers within are half alert, glassy eyed

Staring into nothingness

At 9 p.m.

Some going to late-night work shifts

Others returning

Some who knows where

” It’s okay.” I reassure her

“It’s chic to be late.”

Looking into her green eyes,

Oblivious to repercussion

“Promises are sometimes made to be broken.”

Tantalizing she is

Forbidden love but true

Like sex in a midnight swimming pool

A part of the night has been taken

By our meeting in this hotel resort

Like honey when stolen

Tasting sweeter

Off the train we run

Making up for lost time

Young lovers,

Adventure seeking rebels

Off the beaten path

Of routine and obligation

Another fork of decision . . .

Indecision

“Shall we continue our liaison

Unabated?”

“We owe no one.”

“Tonight can be ours.”

We stumble past

An alley intersection shortcut

We are familiar with the route

We run a block and a half

Heaving cold, fog mist of vapor

Breath into each other’s faces

“Let’s forget the concert and go back to the room.”

“What do you say?” He ventures

She looks back up at him,

Breathless and unsure

Her will belongs to him this night

The cold air hangs heavy and wet,

Invisible, uncomfortable,

Clinging and stinging

Her once warm face

“I’m cold. Yes. We’re too late. They won’t miss us.”

She smiles in the half light of overhead street lamps

Neon flashes colored mottled and kaleidoscopic sparks

Both of them drunk in love

Tossing care to oblivion,

Shoes and friends to the curb

They run

Romantic nocturnal gazelles

Paired in flight

Clothed in love,

Hands gripped tightly,

Warm and sensuous

Palms perfumed in

The other’s own hormonal oils

Young love,

Desiringly, drunkenly smiling

Caught in each other’s spell

Hypnotically, telepathically, wordlessly

Of one mind

They sprint back to the subway station

To melt, and warm themselves in each other’s

Naked, soft . . . Pulsating . . .

Warm embrace of human flesh

For third time this night

My black heels you said you liked,

as my shoes click-click-clicked down the brick sidewalk.

We picked a simple bar-and-grille restaurant and talked about where we'd go dancing afterwards.

I stumbled over my feet once or twice before we finally got to the restaurant.

I was never sure if it was because of a natural predilection to clumsiness, my awkward heels, or because I knew we'd make love for the first time that night.

It all remains so unclear.

Like the sky above our heads that night, which was a milky black color, with stars you had to strategically squint to see.

You slowly slid the chocolate cake from your fork into your delicious mouth when we shared our dessert.

I think that's when I started to get wet. Already. So early in the evening.

It never went away, that readiness.

On our way back from dancing, you looked at me with broken eyes, eyes that should have told me that you were unwell.

You demanded of me, "take off your panties."

I didn't realize you'd touch me in the car, while driving across the bridge, me looking out at the water, trying to avoid your intensely penetrating gaze.

A gaze that made me pleasurably uncomfortable in every way.

That night when we returned to your getaway hotel after a night of reckless dancing,

I reapplied my red lipstick in the bathroom, knowing full well it'd rub off as quickly as it had taken to put it on.

You kissed me with fiery passion.

"What do you want?" you asked softly, sending a shudder down my spine to the tips of my toes.

"I want you inside me," I said, smudging my lipstick on your earlobe as I bit it lightly and slid my tongue in.

You groaned, and sex happened so fast I barely remember it now.

That's what happens when broken people cover up their ugliness.

The memories fade.

We never "made love" that night.

You have to care about someone to do that.