We often drank white wine in those days, almost always Fumé Blanc or white burgandies, and then just as quickly ceased. We'd have nothing or gin, but drinking alone, never sitting down together, and not every day. It was much the same with music. For months at a time we would always be playing records, then tapes of course, CDs, and then for months nothing at all, only occasional interludes of Bach between news programmes on the radio. You'll get the wrong idea of me if all you think is whiteness. I am a wound of a sort, a ragged and meaty crevasse. God, what an image! (She laughs.) I might as well be a gangster rapper. Or a sullen adolescent boy, already half a rapist, fantasizing the deaths of girls chatting on a streetcar. | |||
Looking down at your head turning left then quickly right, back and forth, no easy tide but caught up i n an instant, tossed by my hand upon your nipple. |
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