Ebb and flow

At the peak of your pleasure, is my climax

The ebb and flow of my body going lax

Laced with sin and delight

Fuck yeah, that’s right

Our fingers intertwine

I had too much wine

I’m not sober

It’s not over

I want you

Now

Right now

With your desire

And my tongue twirling around your man fire

A flame, burn my sensibility

And with your tongue tease my sensitivity

Touch me there

Then lick me everywhere

Cutting your losses

It was dark, the kind of darkness that prevailed whether your eyes were open or shut. Mary shifted her knee from under her chin; her joints were screaming in pain. Her hands were tightly tied behind her back and the rope they had used felt razor sharp against her wrists.

It was dark, the kind of darkness that prevailed whether your eyes were open or shut. Mary shifted her knees from under her chin; her joints were screaming in pain. Her hands were tightly tied behind her back and the rope they had used felt razor sharp against her wrists.It cut through her skin but she couldn’t feel that pain anymore. Panic and adrenaline were coursing through her veins. Bent into a foetal position and thrown into the boot of her ex boyfriend’s car, Mary expected nothing less than death; her ex was a dangerous man.

Oxygen seemed in short supply; Mary’s breathing was laboured. Having had a love affair with a man of questionable principles, her ex boyfriend’s associates viewed Mary as a liability; she knew too much. Mary had to be disposed of. The ex, David, had not wanted to jeopardize his million Pula marijuana deal; he wanted to please the hand that fed.

Mary had caught David too many times with the same prostitute and had walked out on their rented iTowers apartment. She could stomach a lot but not infidelity. Mary was present during most of David’s drug deals from the first time he came into the game; she entertained David’s associates, she cooked for them, she bought their kids presents. Mary knew too much.

David relied on her for his strategy formulation and managing his accounts; he had pleaded for her to reconsider their break up but Mary was too far gone. Now she was seen as a liability and there was nothing more David could do. David had never killed anyone with his own hands but he had ordered hits on a number of his enemies. Mary was now his enemy.

Mary lay immobilised in the boot, wondering what would become of her. The Corolla was parked outside an abandoned motel. In the foyer, David sat with his associates planning their next move and who would silence Mary for good. David sharpened a knife, preparing to remedy his dilemma and kill the only love he had ever known.

Fall

Her body lay awkwardly, half of it laid on the carpet, the other half on the tile. Oratile was dead, strangled by him. His admiration of the weather was interrupted by the uncomfortable feeling from the hardness of his erect penis. He was almost finished with her. He mounted himself on top of her and grunted like a beast.

There’s something about Autumn. The gentle wind blows enough force to dislodge a frail leaf from it’s branch. In this gust of air, the stem gives way under the slightest pressure, almost as if it is desperate to let go. The leaf had taken a pale shade of lime; it was nearing the end of its life span. Alone in it’s descent, the fallen leaf dances in the breeze, swaying this way and that. The tip of the leaf zig zags wildly as it spins in the air. The motions are carefree, they imitate organised chaos.

The leaf is being watched. Light brown eyes dart about, following the motions of the leaf. It is satisfying to watch the leaf fall among a bed of already dead leaves. The pale lime leaf stands out from the bursts of amber, oranges and yellows. He too was unique like the newly fallen leaf. He believed he was gifted; he had an intellectual thirst that forced him to devour books cover to cover. He was well read and smarter than most people. He also had an unnatural curiosity to see how things worked, he liked to see how things worked and take a ‘peek under the hood’. He watched the falling leaves from behind the sliding door of Oratile’s living room.

Her body lay awkwardly, half of it laid on the carpet, the other half on the tile. Oratile  was dead, strangled by him. His admiration of the weather was interrupted by the uncomfortable feeling from the hardness of his erect penis. He was almost finished with her. He mounted himself on top of her and grunted like a beast. Once he was finished, he quickly left. Oratile was left alone, her lifeless body left exposed and used. But outside the seasons were changing and time was unaffected by the murder of a young Motswana woman.