i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite a new thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does.

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the

firm smooth ness and which

i will again and again and again

kiss, I like kissing this and that of you...

***

"Why are you scared to touch me?" Leena asked, planting her knees on either side of his lap, watching him read the book he had picked up.

"What do you mean?" He asked, placing his book down gently as she leaned forward, towering over him.

She shifted her leg, pressing the sides of her knees into his thighs, "You're always hesitant to touch me and when you do, I barely even feel your hand over me."

He stared at her pensively as he thought about her words. He couldn't touch her because he was scared of hurting her. He heard his mother beg his father to stop. He would hear her groans of pain coming from their room late at night and he could still hear the sickening sound of flesh against flesh as his father tore his mother apart before his eyes. He was scared that she would ask him to stop- she would beg him to stop and he wouldn't. How could he touch her when he never knew how a man should touch a woman. He was only ever witness to his father's heavy hands and he would only ever see his mother scrabble and scratch at his clothing when he kissed her, tightening his hand around her throat as if to suffocate her.

He just didn't know how to. "I don't want to hurt you."

She looked down at him, smoothing the creases in his forehead with the pad of her thumb. "Hurting someone doesn't come from here." She smiled softly, taking his hand in her own and giving them a gentle squeeze. "It comes from here," She pointed to his chest, tapping her fingertip against his covered skin. "Your hands can't work on their own Riaz. It needs to be told what to do and only if you tell them to hurt me..." She dropped herself slowly onto his lap, kissing him softly. "Only men who have evil and darkness in their hearts will allow themselves to hurt a woman and you don't have that in you."

"How do you know?"

"I know you." She guided his hands to rest on her knees, pressing her palms firmly over his knuckles. "You can touch me and not hurt me..." She moved his hand along the soft skin of her thighs, over the hard denim of her shorts. "Let me show you?"

She asked moving his hand over the bones of her hips, pressing his fingers into her skin. "Please, let me show you?" Her eyes glowed under the dim lights overhead as she kissed him gently, brushing her lips against his own over and over again.

He could feel the indent of her belly button as their hands travelled slowly beneath the thin cotton of her pink shirt before grazing softly over her ribs. "Please?" She asked again and again through hazy kisses and closed eyes.

He nodded his consent, kissing her carefully as if she were made of stained, delicate glass. He could feel her breath against his own, and he could smell the delicate floral scent imprinted in her skin as she pressed herself against him, trapping their hands between their bodies. He leaned forward, allowing himself to explore the fine goosebumps that had erupted all over her skin as their fingers nudged the soft lace of her bra...

And not once, throughout that night, not once did she ever ask him to stop...

***

She stared down at the fish on the table, unable to recall what it was she was meant to do...

All she could think about was the warmth of his skin beneath her cold fingertips and the way she felt his heart beat out of his chest as she touched him- slowly and gently. She remembered the feeling of his hand over her own, guiding her down the smooth expanse of his chest and the hardened muscles of his stomach before he allowed her to feel the smile on his lips as he kissed her fingers.

Try as she might, every time she looked down at the table she couldn't think of any possible reason to resume her work. For the first time in her life she wanted only to remember every touch, every beat of her heart and every stutter of her breath as she felt him and felt how different he truly was to her. She was always attracted to him- She loved the way she felt when she was with him and she loved him for his intelligence and his kind heart and his soft, husky voice...

She knew he was handsome. To her, he had always been the most handsome man she had ever seen but...

He was the first man she had ever touched voluntarily. It was his hand that she had held in a darkened auditorium and his body that shielded her from the sun one Summer's morning years and years ago. It was his mouth that she had almost kissed and was him that she had felt the night before.

She almost laughed at the simplicity of it all. For once she felt somewhat...

Normal. She felt normal.

She was just a woman who was terribly, terribly, terribly attracted to a man and that very thought itself had her blushing from the roots of her hair right till the tips of her toes. She was suddenly shy and excited and anxious all at the same time to see him again. She could barely look at him as they ate their breakfast for fear of recalling with vivid detail all that had happened the previous night before his very eyes. It was too private, too special and too sacred a thought to share with him just yet.

She placed her cold hands over her cheeks, warming her fingertips on her blushed, hot face as she thought about it all over again.

"Tasneem?" The old, roughened voice of Mr Umar's wife allowed for her mind to be called back to reality.

"Yes Tannie?"

"It's almost 11 and you're barely even halfway through." She looked down at the watch on her bony arm before flicking her gaze back to the girl before her. "What's the delay?"

"Uhm..." Tasneem sucked her bottom lip between her teeth trying to think of an excuse yet her mind had simply refused to cooperate with her.

"You've been daydreaming the whole morning haven't you?"

Tasneem didn't say anything, choosing instead to look back down at the half scaled fish before her. "I'll get it done, I promise." She rushed over to the tap, washing her hands before she pulled on her pair of gloves

"Mr Umar and I have seven daughters you know." Tasneem could hear the older woman's smug tone. "When they first got married, they would look just as you did while they were thinking about their husbands."

Tasneem's eyes widened for only a fraction of a second before she looked back down, focusing intently on the task before her.

"He's handsome." Mrs Umar mused, gauging her reaction, pleasantly surprised to note the small tell-tale smile pulling at her lips.

"Yes he is." She replied softly, using the back of her knife to loosen the bright silver and black scales on the fish.

"Okay..." Mrs Umar smiled at her allowing her to fall back to her daydreams as she silently walked out the door, shutting it softly behind her.

***

You are tired

(I think)

Of the always puzzle of living and doing;

And so am I.

Come with me then

And we'll leave it far and far away-

(Only you and I understand)

You have played

(I think)

And broke the toys you were fondest of

And are a little tired now;

Tired of things that break and-

Just tired.

So am I.

He walked in exhausted. His t-shirt stuck to his body with dried sweat as he stepped warily into the room. He hated going out on the water. He went more often now- almost once every week yet still he couldn't keep his mind from going back to that day.

It would plague his mind endlessly till he was back on shore and even then, it would only recede as a dull ache in the back of his mind. He could still see his mother's naked form cowering on the floor. Her mermaid bathing suit torn to shreds beside her and he could still hear the bite of metal against metal as his father lowered the zip of his pants. He could remember it- every lurid, vile, evil detail. He could hear his father mocking her and he could hear his mother's shaky voice as she whimpered out answers to his questions.

He could hear the pain in her cries even though his eyes were closed and his ears were sealed. He could still hear her. He could hear her sharp intake of breaths and the soft pleading, begging him to stop. To let her go- to do what he had to in their own room and not in front of their son.

But Zaheer had other ideas. He didn't have sex with her because he wanted to. He wanted her to remember that he controlled her and that he owned every single, little part of her.

But even as Riaz pushed himself to the brink of his limits, he didn't think about his mother's cries or his father's loud, poisonous pants as he destroyed her...

He thought about what his mother had told him the day he saw her last. He thought about the grim determination in her voice as she spat out her venom into his ears. He always knew, deep down inside, that it was his fault. He knew Zaheer raped her to prove a point but to hear her scream it and shout it at him... He didn't care about the strain in his arms as he lifted weights too heavy for him neither did he mind the nausea that had built up in the pit of his stomach as he punished his body relentlessly. All he wanted was to be rid of the voices in his head.

Of her voice in his head.

He was a coward. He always knew he was a coward. He was never brave enough to stand up to his father and for that, she scorned him. She had obliterated his heart the second those words left her mouth and from that he had never recovered. Yet still, he missed her.

He missed his mother's voice and he missed those rare moments of lucidity where she had become his mother Claire. The one who held his hands and kissed his palms and buried herself in her gardening, whistling songs from long ago as she pulled out stubborn weeds rooted deep within the earth. He hadn't spoken to her since he had left and he was sure he had forgotten her voice. The voice in his memories seemed to belong to a phantom woman- it wasn't his mother's voice...

He wanted to phone her. He wanted to hear her voice, even if it was just her strange mumbling that filled his ears, but he had never gotten past two rings of the phone before he placed it back onto the receiver. He was tired...

He was just tired of never knowing why he couldn't phone her even though he so desperately wanted to. He was tired of wondering if she was okay in their house... He wondered if one day he would get a call at work telling him that his mother was dead.

And the strange thing was...

For Zaheer to kill his mother wouldn't be a strange thing at all.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight

And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart-

Open to me.

For I will show you the places Nobody knows

And if you like

The perfect places of Sleep.

He was dreaming...

She was kissing him softly, molding her lips to the shape of his own as she fisted the material at his chest. He could hear her heavy breaths as he gripped her hips, holding her so closely to him that he could feel her heart beating against his own. He could feel her soft skin beneath his hands and he could taste...

Saltwater.

He could taste her tears as she begged for him stop. She pleaded with him, pushing against his chest but he couldn't do it. Not even as he spotted the bruises on her skin from his hand or the red marks over her neck and shoulders as he... He could feel her shaking and shuddering, crying out as his hands...

He woke up to darkness...

He could barely hear anything apart from his own heart thundering in his ears as his breathing came out in loud, heavy gasps for air. He could feel his t-shirt soaked through with sweat as he reached out to look for his glasses.

He wasn't like Zaheer.

He wasn't like him.

He would never, ever hurt her like that.

He could hear the loud rumbles of a generator from across the street but still he flicked the switch of the lampshade on and off- praying he would be able to see.

He needed to smoke.

He yanked off his t-shirt as he stood up, throwing it carelessly on to his bed as he walked towards the window. There was a full moon hanging just above his window as if she were a lantern strung up just for him. He lifted the latch, pushing the window open before resting his elbows on the window sill. He could still hear his heart beat echo throughout his body as his fingers shook against his head.

He hated it when the lights went out but he would have to wait a lot longer than he truly wanted to before the sun finally peeked its face from behind the horizon.

"Riaz?" He heard her flick the switch on and off before he heard the rustle of her duvet. He turned around, making out faint traces of her silhouette as she raised herself on her elbows to look at him. "Do you want some company?"

Come with me.

I'll blow you that wonderful bubble the moon

That floats forever and a day:

I'll sing you the jacinth song

Of the probable stars:

I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream

Until I find the Only Flower...

He could feel her arms brush against his own before she shifted to let her hair out of her braid. "Do you remember my sunflowers?" She asked softly, her voice melding gently into the darkness.

"Yeah. You sent me a picture of them."

"They were destroyed in a lightning strike a few months before..." She didn't know how to say it, but she knew he understood. "But the day I left, I passed that spot one last time and I saw a shoot breaking its way out of the soil."

"Are you sure it wasn't a weed?"

"Yes." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I know sunflowers." He felt her fingers intertwine with his own as she stepped closer to him. "You remind me of my sunflowers. It's the only thing I miss about home."

"Nothing else?"

"No." He could feel her tighten her grasp around his hand before she turned to face him. "I missed you Riaz. When I sent you that last letter.... There was never a day after that that I didn't think of you."

"Then why did you send it?"

She remained silent, unable to answer his question. "Can I-"

He heard her breath fall and rise as she stepped between him and the window, closer to him now than ever before.

"Can you what?" He looked down in the darkness, watching as tiny flecks of moonlight glinted in her hair.

She stepped a little closer, yet still the only part of them touching was her fingers against his own.

I like my body when it is with your

Body. It is quite so new a thing...

He could feel the fingers of her right hand brush softly against his knuckles before she grazed them slowly over his arm- feeling him, touching him...

Muscles better and nerves more.

She prodded her cold fingertips gently against his muscles, trailing softly over his shoulders. She could feel a slight shiver run through his body as she touched the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, sliding her arm around- running her fingers cautiously over the round, soft bumps along the back of his neck...

I like your body. I like what it does,

I like its hows.

Her fingertips smoothed over the hard ridges at the top of his spine before moving back up, prickling her skin against the short hairs at his nape.

I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones

And the smoothness and which I will...

He could feel her fingertips along his eyebrow, tickle the ridge of his nose before wiping the pad of her thumb beneath his eyes...

Again and again and again...

He wet his lips with his tongue, following the trail left behind by her fingertips...

...kiss. I like kissing this and that of you...

She was close. He could feel her heart and he could hear her shallow breaths as she stopped, touching only the corner of his lip.

"One day..." He heard her whisper. "One day." He felt her forehead against the top of his chest, as she leaned forward to rest against him. Her hand found its way back to his, grasping his shaking fingers tightly between her own. "Are you scared?"

She slowly guided his hands to rest against her back, enfolding her gently in a hug.

"Yes." He ran his thumb softly over her knuckles. "Are you?"

"I'm terrified." She said, closing her eyes and listening only to the beat of his heart against his chest...

A/N The first poem is adapted from I like my bodi when it is with yours by e.e.cummings.

The second  is also by e.e. cummings and it's called You are tired.