Soiled Virgin

A fresh sheet. Immaculate in his whiteness. Evenly spaced lines streak his face. Hinting that he knows more than he lets on with that blank stare. He quivers, ever so slightly, at my touch. He beckons, yet holds himself back. What is his story?

He calls out to his prey, snugly cradled in my breast pocket. Its bold blue ink warmed by my chest. I can feel the virgin's longing. I take the innocent from its haven and gently place down my offering. He tastes. One drop. And it forever soils him.

He takes. And takes. The victim's life flows from its core and spills onto him. It fills his corners until the host is spent. A shell with a chewed out tip a shade lighter than the rest. As for him, he is indelibly changed. Raw and naked, beautiful in his ugliness, he splays himself out for all to see.

photo from here

Smoke and Mirrors

You waited patiently. As I opened and revealed them one by one, tightly encased within each of my other Matryoshka selves. Slowly, hesitantly. At my own pace, at my own terms. Until I stood there naked, trembling and unsure.

You held my face, pale under the glaring light, with both hands and said, "I like this one the most."

You took my hand and led me away from the Penrose stairs where I have lost those whom I have followed. Ascending, as they went the other way, and realizing too late that I have been tricked into a solitary spiral.

We stopped in between two mirrors facing each other. I instinctively cringed, waiting for the smoke and tricks to appear to thunderous but hollow applause. But everything remained quiet, as you showed me our reflection.

"You are beautiful," you whispered.

And I was, but more so with you. We shared the same smile, you and I, reflected by two mirrors into infinity.

Matryoshka dolls

Penrose stairs

photo credit: 
flickr - two short planks (two mirrors with infinite reflections)
trenddelacreme.com (Matryoshka dolls)
stewardess.inhatc.ac.kr (Penrose stairs)