Carnivalesq

The historic hotel had decayed like Cinderella’s coach, carved by jack-o-lantern vandals after midnight. It felt staged, all the trappings of Halloween put on months early or too late, now a faded and dusty grey. They watched from across the street and she tried to convince him to forget about the hotel and continue on. He, the only figure draped in black in a barren wasteland of gray and waning light, insisted. A hotel no longer opening its doors to guests, he assured her, would be a sanctuary from those who might seek to harm. From those who would not understand.

The world has left her cold.
Her lovers have left her cold.
She is cold, as a stone.

How do you kiss Medusa?
Eyes open or eyes closed?

You laughed and waved, your body bright beneath the clear green water, its shape fitting your shape, holding you, faithful to you. You turned on your back and your nipples grazed the surface of the river and the river decorated your hair with beads. You are creamy but for your hair your red hair that flanks you on either side.

She’s a time traveler moving faster than the speed of sound, linking past, present, and future. Bridging across the galaxy between straight and bent. Between woman-loving and woman-hating. Between the pages of a book. She’s here to remind the galaxy that it is possible to be more than one half of any duality, more than just an extension, an opposite: male/female. Rational/emotional. Butch/femme. So, she’s nobody’s princess, baby doll, babe. Her ass is her own until she needs a good spanking. Even then, she’s nobody’s slut but the slut inside you.