A Natural Path To Falling

Clara has a lover for every language that she speaks. A French woman, a German man, a Dutch woman, and me; I speak English. She is ethically nonmonogamous. She shows me things I’ve never seen before, life from her perspective. A little part of me loves a little piece of her. I can’t help it, and neither can she. It’s a natural path to falling.

Clara avoids bathing; her body odor is blatant. I can smell her from a foot away. Sitting across from her, her aroma wafts and smacks me in the face. I quite like it in a low dose, and it smells sweet like a natural perfume. I revel to think of the accumulated sweat and what it tastes like, and even though it’s winter, I know it is thick and caked on. I want her naked in my bed, leaving her stink on my sheets. All the smells radiating off her body are hers. Her body produced them and now expels them into my nostrils. Something must be wrong with me. I need a drink.

Sunlight was coming in through the window behind her shoulders. She spoke as I fell in love with the rogue strands of hair breaking away from her head. These few strands were backlit and appeared soaked in golden rays. I see particles of dust floating in the air; slowly, I put my hand to her face softly. I think of her as one of those strands. Clara is different from those in the world. It is impossible for her not to break off; it is entirely in her nature to break away from the strands growing forward, and if, in outward defiance, she grows the other way, meeting the sun and bathing in the light.

Cover Art: Orange Dress - Vladimir Volegov