The yellow highlighter I was using before. Its diameter, the thickness of my thumb. Smooth and slick. I turn it around in my hand, putting it between my fingers as one would a cigarette. My fingers travel up the round thick barrel to the cover. The cover feels smaller and grooved like a small version of a churro. It sits atop the round barrel. I tug at it. It comes off easily and falls to the ground rolling away towards a cushion. It stops at the edge of the red silk cushion lying next to the pen. The red silk cushion beckons to me. I reach for the cushion, accidentally jabbing it with the highlighter forgetting it was uncapped. I suck air through my teeth for the second time as I drop the highlighter and reach for the stained red silk cushion. It slips out of my reach.
Marigot In Madagascar
To restore her usual confident self, she returned to her habitual shopping spree and sampling of men. She went on dates. She had men doing her bidding yet, she felt empty. She broke off engagements. She lived her life this way attempting to forget that she could be, and was attracted to women. She still found herself plagued by memories of what could have been with Veya. She knew she needed to let that go and move on with her life, and she knew just the cure for that! A vacation! She would go to Giselle’s in Madagascar! Giselle had been inviting her since they both graduated from college and Giselle left the US to return to her island. She called Giselle up and arranged a visit.
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Ligo Haibun Challenge: Illusion
The prompts at Ligo Haibun this week are two words, Illusion and Ecstasy. My offering:
Illusion
You waltz into my heart leaving me reeling from your aura. A magnet of sweet decadence you have me hooked completely. Lips to lips, body to body, no space for another. Just the two of us.
We dance, primitive in our desire, beating tattoos of love in naked abandon. And then, just as suddenly, like a fleeting mirage, you are no more. I clasp the breeze that trail your departure, but your wild musk eludes me. I grasp at nothingness.
I flail, I wail, my despair insane. Wisps of your essence cling to my consciousness. Waking and fading. You are my illusion.
your fine musk haunts my wild desires I dream on
Musings of An African Woman 