I KNOW YOU

I. You

I know you.
Your eyes are as big as lemons and your shoulders are spotted with freckles.
I kissed them once. The freckles. You didn't know. You didn't feel.
You seemed asleep. Maybe you were. 
You only saw me from behind.
We spoke many times but you didn't quite see me. Blinded by the lights.
We fucked many times but you didn't quite get me. And yet each time, you knew where to find me. Found your way.
How many backs can you remember? Are they all different? Individual? Specific? Fascinating? 
Or do they all merge into one?
A generic version.  A fantasized version.  A sterile version. A blueprint of a woman's back being fucked from behind. By you.
A prototype. A show flat.


II. You

I know you.
I have rested my head many times on your bones.
I have tasted your skin.
I have captured your shapes on the palm of my hand.
Your hollows and my fulls. Your lines and my curves.
I have caught my breath leaning on the wall of your back. I have been revived by the air you blew in my mouth.
I know you as I walk in the dark. Along your contours. All around. The surface of what is you expands and takes me in.
I follow the line, the demarcation; I gradually cover a wider and wider territory.
In the dark, I know exactly where to go.
And yet, I never feel the repetition. The landscape, more and more known. Denser and denser.
I know you. Your shout resonates inside me, fills the whole space inside me.
From wall to wall.