Rug:
He winked, threw me a look. I was charmed by his scar; what a story that must be. A void in the center of a vast empty studio. He’s now off-limits, limited, reduced, erased, a place in limbo, a space on pause, tamed, restricted, suspended. I’m itchy; I’m nervous. Eighty square feet of vacancy inside an already vacant space, interior now has an exterior. Around the square, bound to the periphery, tied to the edges, controlled from the center, from the connection, the heart, beat, beat, beat. When no one was looking, I surrendered to lust, to that tiny 8-foot by 10-foot abstraction, guarded by literal, red, tape. Cast in a latex rug, a rubbing, skin to skin; flesh, sweat, BREATH, 8 hours of nervous, lonely breath. Fuck, that was good. What’s left is a dirty rug, a folded place, a memory of my love affair on a Tuesday.