he invites me for a dance, the man that came out of my dream, the disturbing stranger with dark eyes and solemn smile.
he twirls me around, he leads on the floor, his hand in my waist, his scent dancing with my hair and nose.
his breath caresses my ear, warm, accessible and as solemn as his smile.
he presents me to the audience, proud, reverent and ironic, playing at the concerned lover and the careful house master.
he smiles as they applaud our intricate dancing figures, even if i am not aware i am making them.
he adores me in silence, he pleads with his eyes for a little closeness, just half an inch, no more.
he brings my body close to his, a willow against the wind, a vine against the wall, a bee against the flower.
he nourishes me with his touch, he spoils me with his attention, he claims me with his nails, so long and so strong and so unsettling.
he slashes my clothes to ribbons, he slashes my underwear to nothingness, he slashes my mind to millions of oblivious little pieces.
he smiles at my nakedness, my vulnerability, laid thus for all to see even if it is not unpleasant for me.
he hungers for more, he wants what is in my soul, what pumps from my heart, and what reaches him from my core.
he slashes again, strips of flesh mixing with strips of cloth, blood decorating everything, so close , so warm, so alive.
he uses long uninterrupted strokes to connect and hack away at the flesh, so that the bone underneath is flashing white in places.
he makes it so pleasant to watch, so wonderfully organized, a true work of art, a masterpiece of an inspired genius.
he works very fast, almost furious at my remaining flesh, hacking away breasts, belly, flashy thighs, hair. everything must go.
he stops for a bit, to catch his breath and give the flesh strips to the audience, as hungry for more as i am.
he uncovers my still beating heart, a perfect masterpiece in action, the warm core of my essence.
he eats it slowly, savoring each piece, and licking the still splurging blood off his fingers with gusto, while the audience is dining on the flesh strips.
he told me there would be no pain and there is none. there is the lack of pain, which slowly builds up in something intolerable and bursts out with a scary scream from shredded lungs.
he smiles again, full of my heart and my blood and the audience murmurs its consent. they are at peace, at one with his satisfied self.
then he slowly gathers the remaining shreds and knits me back, unblemished, stainless and whole. the audience applauds, not noticing the regurgitating pieces making their ways from their throats to my body.
he puts my heart back in place, his essence permeating its flowing blood once more.
then he starts dancing with me again, a besotted girl and her dark, handsome and strange partner, twirling around and making intricate beauty for the appreciative audience.
then he starts slashing again.