I met her on the bus. She was in her mid 50’s, buxom, big boobed and wearing a white Sari with yellow linings. My body shivered with sex. I had an uncontrollable erection. Her forehead was smeared with vermilion making her all the more erotic. Yes, what a sexy encounter.
She is my significant other and she is billeted in a grand hotel in Jakarta. She is sleeping on a king size bed. I ruminate on the bed, its quilty softness, its impressionistic colors… I feel sad; I miss her company. I could have made love to her like writing of poetry. I have missed so many chances of being with her.
My first love passionate/
As streams of poetry; alas/
It was a dead a leaf/
I was sitting in the psychiatric clinic. Beside me were a girl and her family. The girl was apparently not well. She kept pacing up and down the corridor muttering something illegible. Her parents shouted at her asking her to sit down. When she did not consent, one of the relatives gave her a thrashing. I thought, what a bastard; he doesn’t know to deal well with a mentally sick person. The poor girl started weeping.