You are my glorious disease and I have been fighting the cure ever since. I long for emptiness these days. No more cigarettes, no more drink, no more love. Just morose boredom and a meaningless fuck in dust. But still I think about wide hips and burgundy lips, thigh high stockings and your foot gently pressing on my groin like the gas pedal in a car. I remember your breath before you came in for the kill, and I remember the light dancing off the contours of your arched back. I remember wet, horrible sin.
I’ve tried to find alternatives but I only end up staring at the backwards writing on the base of the bottle. I go to a different store every day so the vendors don’t pity me. You drift into my mind like smoke under a door, and I never know whether to open it and try to escape or to stay and hope I pass out before I burn.
I walk into the bathroom and wash my face in the filthy sink, trying not to look at my own reflection and the betrayal of my dilated pupils. I tell myself I am done, that we are two cogs turning the opposite way, destroying each other.
But then I think,
one more time…
One more taste of red salt…
*
The poets of sweetness that made us cringe tell of a place where lovers live ever after in castles made of perfumed mists, saying to each other things like ‘forever’, ‘I swear’ and ‘always more’. We are too smart to swallow this, and yet here we are, all stars, fires and poetic license.
I claim to wish for your silence but, when I see you aren’t done, my heart races over the seas. You pull me back, tear me apart between lust and fear, doubt and trust, fire and ash. Controlling my sequences of movement, ordering contraction and release with the tapping of your fingertips, you make me lie in bed aching, holding on to the memory of you pinning me down with your body, with your brutal mouth, sinking so deeply inside me not even smoke can drift between us. It’s still you who drives me into the dance; memory becomes flesh as I squeeze my thighs together and think of flowing into you in gasping motions – wet, exalted.
The kill is on both of us. Pierced by the same blade we fall.
Here’s the truth: I can’t go on. I’ll bring you my tongue on a platter, my song out of tune, my sanity, my senses, all my silver jewels. I’ll even do the stupid stuff, like say ‘forever’, ‘I swear’ and ‘always more’. I’ll pass you the salt. And if we become material for the poets of shit, we’ll blame it on the weather or a collapsing bridge.
The words you wanted to hear were always there when I said bite / fuck / hard / eat / suck me, kávla – at the last one you’d say ‘what?’ and I’d say ‘guess.’ Always there when I was carnal.
Let’s take it from the start.
Say again: ‘Tell me something you’ve told no one else.’
This time I’ll say yes.
***
© Basilike Pappa & Jimmi Campkin, 2018
Photography by Jimmi Campkin
Jimmi Campkin is a “Writer, photographer, creator of SANCTUARY. 16bit child, INFP with clinical nostalgia and red wine for blood.” You can enjoy more of his work at jimmi campkin.com.
Here’s one of the “poets of sweetness” who enjoyed your post!
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Thank you, and that’s really sweet!
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I say yes, yes and yes.
Amazing writing. Breath-takingly beautiful and so well-crafted. Kudos for both.
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Thank you, thank you and thank you, because just one wouldn’t be enough. You make me soar!
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The writing is Gorgeous! The grit is palpable. I want to look away, but can’t or won’t. Amazing series!!!!!
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Susan, ‘thank you’ are very small words to tell you how I feel about you being here for this from beginning to end. Endless hugs, my friend.
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And to you, my friend! You inspired me endlessly!
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That’s the best thing!
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He’d gasp, if ever caught a breath again … 1,2 3, breathe in, breathe out … awaiting 4 … wanting, more.
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We are not planning on a part 4 right now, but who knows…
Thank you so much for staying through all this story, Eric! It means more than I can tell you.
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The gas pedal, of poetic brilliance
firmly pressed to the metal.
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Do you know you always bring light to my comments section? Thank you so much!
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I’m looking forward
to Part 3, agápi mou.
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Or Part 4! So enraptured
I’ve lost count, and all
sense of time.
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Then something worked right!
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Kalé mou phile, it will take some time.
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Ta kalá prágmata pou axízei na periménei !
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Efharistò giá ta kalá sou lògia!
Have you been studying secretly?
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Tis all greek to me … classically
, but no classes for poor me.
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Are you skipping your classes, young man?
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Truant … as charged.
But as my French teacher
from Mauritius once said,
“Sacré bleu . . .
You are so classless!”
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Ha ha! And your answer was?
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Reblogged this on S. K. Nicholas.
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For the third time, thank you a hundred!
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Each time is a true pleasure! 🙂
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You make me very happy by saying that. It means so much that you enjoyed it!
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Writing such as this is worthy of every ounce of praise it receives 🙂
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And now I’m even happier!
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I love this collaboration! This is the way I dream of writing. 🙂
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And now I don’t know what to say…
Thank you, Diana, from my heart!
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<3. I'm planning to reblog the first part on Tuesday. I'm just in awe. 🙂
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I just saw this. Thank you very much!
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Reblogged this on FREE VERSE REVOLUTION and commented:
The third part of Basilike and Jimmi’s incredible collaboration 💛
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Thank you so much, Kristiana! You are the best!
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My pleasure! 💛
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I can’t tell you how happy I am that you like it!
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Triple WOW! A unique collaboration to write like this. Surreal in places a mind could go! But, so hard to pull it off like you two have done! Μπράβο! 📚🎶 Christine
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And a triple ‘thank you’! Your comments made my day! It means so much that you like it. I love this collaboration too, writing with Jimmi is an amazing experience.
Ευχαριστούμε πολύ!
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the lure of one more time, and the apprehension that there wont be one more. it does make us say yes, even to the point of becoming poetic.
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Thank you so much! As for more, we’ll see… And I hope you’ll say yes again!
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of course yes, your hope is very convincing
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