Archive for February, 2008

The Sin of The Queen

February 16, 2008

Her smell.
My atmosphere.
Our sin.
Everything smelled of Madame Clicquot, the same wine we shared at the Casino the night when she chose the Queen of Spades. The night was different. It poured harder the moment I went back to her house. I felt a sense of casualness between us. I examined her moves. Her grey-green eyes met with mine-the look spoke her emotions. I drew toward her, her skin is warm and as I drew closer and closer I could feel her cheekbones high and rouged and the wisp of her hair brushed my longing lips, her hair darker and redder than mine. It was strong, as strong as these two bodies shared with lust and deceitful desires. Bit by bit, the stranger in us tailed off. I stood a distant from her. How I thought of such kisses that would fill the mouth and leave the body free. With such pleasurable act shared by the only Queen of Spades, I would rather want to be conquered and saved by her, freed from my earthly desires. Would she be reading tonight? A doubtless query, I thought. Being inside the house felt a clandestine happiness- as passionate as each of the kisses we have shared. Yes, the kiss. I felt I have gone through all of Venice’s narrow streets and sailed across the desolate waves of the canals and confessed all my sins to the Byzantine churches of the city. That was precise and that was a sweet and relentless torture.
I saw two glasses of wine stood at the wine table with the bottle of Madame Clicquot, uncorked. I felt a sudden gush of energy ran through my spine that, in a split of a second, brought me into an unexpected ecstasy. It dragged me helpless but when she held her glass there was an awakening. The figure, the Queen of Spades tossed the bottle of Madame Clicquot toward my direction; it was the aroma of that shot that held me insane. She knew I was looking and the gesture of her hand signaled the act. She sat on the red-colored metal stool of the mini bar and lit her cigarette with a blue flame. As she held the cigarette between her fingers, the smoke curled into the space and drew curves of white.
“You knew about it, didn’t you?” I carefully asked.
“What do you expect then?” She smiled sarcastically.
“Nothing.” I laughed with a camouflaged doubt.
“I just felt you that moment.”
“ The moment you’ve thrown a look, I knew the intention.”
That was a conversation but I tried to be composed even the shot put me into daze. At the back of my head were the endless thoughts I had even before I went back to her house. It was a risky feeling to meet her; I knew this would be all temporary; nevertheless, I still would want this feeling to ring true, a torture that I will forever suffer if I wouldn’t deal with the consequence. The kiss, the deceitful desires of two souls, the pervasiveness of each moment and the night made into a memorable musings tortured me and pushed me into the impassionate if I opted to withdraw my cards. It would be totally different, really. We sat closer and I smelled her breath of Madame Clicquot inside me.
The day dawned wet and lazy. We slept while the world was awake. I kissed her for the last time, it was different for she was asleep, and it felt like a confined happiness was emancipated. We played fairly. The last Queen’s throw captured the soldier, it was the sin shared by the Queen.