If the Sea Were Whisky

– Fayroze Lutta

To you,

Your surname means youthful, tender, smooth and in French pronounced
souplé and all for me crémeuse. As you talk to a crowd you have an awkward stammer and stutter, slightly punctuating your speech. The way in which you eject the words and bring them forth, like you are tripping over your own tongue not able to utter the words whole… I find it compelling, un attirance. As if it were how you would speak whilst in the carnal act finding it hard to form structured speech, hesitating… lost under the weight of your own pleasure. As though when I hear you speak to a crowded room you make love to me alone with your words. I imagine that as you are stammering and stumbling trying to spit out the words as if it were the same sound you would emit as you frisson.

For all the talk and protest and politenesses I care for I just sit around the circle listening to the socialist vitriolic sermon. However all I am aware of is where you are orientated in the room and I cross my legs facing away from you so no one is aware all the time the speaker spitting on capitalisms effigy. I just want something animal from you that has nothing to do with the political economic structures of this decaying landscapes of modern civilisation or a nakedness of the mind just pure unfettered desire ultimately a nakedness of the soul.

I need a drink and if the sea were whisky I would swim to the bottom and never come.

Your awkward spectacles and thick pink lips – angular nose – your obvious choice of shoes. I still recall the first time I saw you dressed in black – black blazer – suit pants – black leather shoes – a white shirt – looking refined however these days you have done away with such formalities which does not make me swerve. As now under your purposefully modest apparel I do not want to simply peek beneath – I want to see you at first upright only wearing your thick rimmed specs, I would only be wearing a cigarette lying on the bed and then we would be wearing each others’ sweat, clothing ourselves in each others’ naked skin our bodies knotted and knitted together as woven cloth of skin and hair and you would be stammering loud in my ear for me alone your sole audience.