Sunday, May 8, 2011

The wine of your birthday

Shimy el yasmine my love…it was last year, the last day of the last month of spring, at the southern of my life. I am back now to my northern ordinary life, and it's just a letter to tell you about the wine of your birthday. I remembered it just today, with a glance of wine over listen the song "shime el yasmine"…have you listened to it? I am going to send you a music file with the email; I like to call it letter because it sounds more romantic. I couldn’t make much sense why I should listen to it, you should be listening to it.
 I know this might sound like a patronizing way to put, but it's just a letter to you, and who are you except my love, or so it seemed to feel; anyhow I listened to it, I really listened to it and you made me feel this way. I was too much of a girl – subordinate this makes me, damn it I don’t care- in love with you and for you would hurt and tremble. If it took me to clean your house and make your babies I would have done that. But remember the wine of your birthday. Sweet wine, she got it with her from France, so what if she came from France, I live there, and I got you the strongest perfume I could find.
 I got drunk, I saw myself getting drunk, I saw me getting myself drunk, I saw me sipping that wine, I saw the drops running down on my chest and into my curving bosom. I saw him looking at me, you looking at her.  Some parts of us were happy, I can tell you that, but did you ask yourself who she was looking at, who made her happy as you were filling my glass while shattering its' smudged tip with your heavy finger prints. You got me drunk, listened to me and kissed her. That was the first day of the summer of her life. That wine of your birthday, I didn’t drink from it in your health, I drank to drawn my non existing presence; it was tainted wine.
Are you happy now?!  Confessions pouring down my lips running like salty water into your deaf ears and down my hollowed pours… were you smiling then, I wasn’t; but your eyes twinkled with pride for the victory over the old hag giving in and drawling dog barks over the new lamp shade to your stunned artificial organic pumping blood machinery… you smiled, but I didn’t. I didn’t smile as I said it all to you and you said it all to her; my wordings and pains and masochistic willings of love offerings and dumb lastings… everything love, everything.
 I would not have done that to you, I would have hushed you up. Remember how I sipped the wine of your birthday, I wish you were that wine, I wish you making me warm and strong not to humiliate myself fearing acid burns to my twined guts. I would have picked you after you fall only to tuck you in a tub full with hot stings of fetish feelings, would have given you my humiliation in humble captured looks waiting for master's appraisal.
Remember that wine of your birthday, it crippled me and castrated you. That wine of your birthday, will always make me sing "itzakar tensany….remember to forget me"….but it will always make you sing "itzakar…itzakar…itzakar… tezkourny….remember, remember, remember to remember me". See now how skeletonized we both will turn up to be in moments to come.

Give my love to the family
 And farewells to you.

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