English Wall (tz)

ponedjeljak, 08.05.2006.

Moonlight

(Mjesečina)

We’re sitting in a small, uncomfortable car, you and I - the pilot and co-pilot on their front seats, staring through the windshield into the blackness of the night. Dark and deserted parking lot is fogged from our joint breath, made of desire one can feel on the fingertips.

You’re folding your hands in your lap, defensively, neutrally, I don’t know…All I know is that I want your hands around my neck and they’re scared, vulnerable, untrusting hands, crossed in your lap, bound to swallow us both. My infrared vision is penetrating through your clothes to scan the curved shape of your shoulder, small breasts under your shirt, loosely put inside your jeans. I save the scanned images in memory for future days, when we’ll both be naked to the bone - next time I can compare the hollows of your vertebra, birthmarks under your left breast, in the pit of your belly, on your left shoulder blade.

You speak of impossibility of our desires, and the intoxicating closeness of our hair and necklines is drawing our faces together like a magnet. I’m breathing you in while you’re shivering, refusing me with words of reason, just as your lips wander and come down to mine, soft as a butterfly touch. Our tongues are shameless, tongues that speak in their own ‘tongues’, in riddles and circles around our lips, around our consciousness. They’re exploring the unexplored, rarely used trajectories of our lips, where only liquids or saliva dare wander sometimes.

Our hands are tentacles of climbing plants, poison ivy with no poison or thorn, claws pulled inside the skin for this moment only – wrapped around spindle-shaped bodies of our joint trembling. The Moon gravitation is elevating the tin cocoon of the car together with our silky chrysalis inside, in the night without lights, under the jet-black glimpse of starlit sky. The uncomfortable seats are melting below us into a mountain waterfall, our bodies, rid of layers of clothes, considerations and socially acceptable forms are fluttering, hovering in zero gravity side by side, before our orbital modules touch. Houston, we’re connected, the auto-pilot message reads, taking over controls on our journey to the Moon, just before the video link is lost and the voyeur Luna considerately turns its head away from the second lunar landing in history.

Gently we touched the biggest Ocean of Storms, large as the Mediterranean Sea. Our melted, formless mass is submerged into the Sea of Rains, while we’re swallowing moist with dry, raw lips. As in a Gargantuan Laundromat, we’re circling through different states of mind, exploring all other seas in one single, uninterrupted sequence, going through the Seas of Serenity, Tranquility and Fertility.

We’re unaware it’s a threesome, while the Moon is blending with each pair of lips and taking turns in each embrace. A kaleidoscope, colorful glass spinning before our very eyes, the images of bare skin, embraced limbs, you inside me, in positions yogini-girls can only dream about. Funny, what small gravity can do! Lovemaking inside the moonbeam is creating fractals in the brain, crystals of desire, floating inside our bloodstream.

From the Moon, we’re watching our energies send a light beam to the dark belly of the Universe, as a torch, lighting the dead stars and making floating asteroids a new, shiny comet.

I’m muttering binary codes in your ear, inside of me you’re speaking in mathematical equations and I - who flunk physics and chemistry – suddenly comprehend all the equations of the world. You say, E = mc2, energy of our joint body equals our embrace; our body is rushing at light speed, thus, it’s captured, held in a single spot and equals the kinetic energy of our desires. Pity, schools don’t teach this kind of Einstein’s theory of relativity - it looks now that everything is relative, except our energies in this single beam of light.

Out of the two, you’re the prevailing mind, emitting all possible chess outcomes of our embrace under the moonlight. You’re the one with the knowledge, theories, end-game steps to knock down the King and secure the Queen’s victory. I don’t care, as long as the King remains on the chessboard. I gladly sacrifice castles, bishops, taking off the heads of the pawns…Anything, to prolong this Moon game of chess.

Your eye pupils are widening; a tidal wave is coming to cover us with eruption of lava and ashes simultaneously. Lava is going through my bones, my veins, rushing without stopping. In our lunar voyage, we’ve passed the point of no return. The empty fuel tanks are discarded, modules that led us from one rendezvous point to another, from one Moon Ocean to another. The only untouched is the Sea of Crisis and the craters like Copernicus and Tycho.

Again my loins are only mine, my lips parted from its twin. I’m chasing away the fog from my eyes, condensed mist between the two of us, on our side of the galaxy… All of a sudden, we’re sitting in our cramped, tiny car again, all dressed up and buttoned to our necks, unaware of Einstein’s theory and our oddly parted bodies.

We’re not sure, whether we made love or not, or just held each other in an embrace. Perhaps it’s the same thing, now that we’ve confirmed our own theory of relativity?

Finally, you manage to speak. You’re saying, we should not make love. I’m looking at you, not understanding. There’s an uncombed Nebula in your hair, which is betraying you and telling it all; in your eyes, there’s a glimpse of the lunar Sea of Tranquility.

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