Red-Windowsills

It was nothing serious, really…
Just some drunk kisses on the rave-up.
It was fully absurdly and freely
Two different hues of lipsticks on one cup.

We were peers… OK. I was a bit older.
The same musical tastes and life views.
We both were like a password-protected folder…
OK. She was always losing her clues.

When I entered to the kitchen she was painting a windowsill.
(I’m sure that right here I fucked up with articles and tenses.)
Yes, she was painting with a scarlet nail polish. A tiny quill.
Hellish stink. Hellish color. I swear, it was hell in all senses!

I went… and returned with a bottle of paint remover.
I just thought that red doesn’t fit. I would prefer black.
And she said, “Wow… booze. Cheers, my Rover…”
And she took a sip. Only one huge sip. Only a sip… and without a snack.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

16 thoughts on “Red-Windowsills”

  1. I love this, the voice is different from your usual tone, even the style different, creating different imagery. I really like this, it has a lot of attitude! My favorite stanza is the first, with the fourth line, again my favorite, the imagery beautiful, “Two different hues of lipsticks on one cup”.

    The second stanza, two lines that I’m having fun visualizing, “We both were like a password-protected folder…” and this one I love, “OK. She was always losing her clues.”.

    Third stanza, what fun to see it all, and take it all in. The painting of the windowsill with a ridiculously small brush, nail polish brush, and then the reference to a tiny quill, like painting with a single tiny feather. The term “scarlet” brings to my mind so many interesting ideas, one in particular, the reoccurring reference to “Hell”, and of course the universal “we”, would imagine it to be red.

    The last stanza, very bleak, with changing the paint color from red to black. Black representing to me, the finality of the life of the relationship. Wow drinking paint remover? “And she said, – ‘Wow… booze… Cheers, my Rover…’. ” Yup, one huge sip will do it!

    I love this, painting an entire world with your words! What a story! Excellent! I love it!

    Alice ♥

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  2. Lovely and sad, my bold Unbolt.

    Sometimes in the moment, affections we’ve felt deeply, can suddenly seem to disappear into ambiguous mystery, and we can find ourselves wondering how we so lost ourselves to the feeling, what it was that possessed us so completely, before like a drifting mist mistress or mister with the whims of the wind it was moving on without us, leaving us alone with only the memory and the feeling that though what we had has apparently been emptied of it’s depth of meaning, the vacancy is just as heavy and staggering… that is, if our sensitivity to the lack of weight that left with whatever it was that we thought we had, isn’t actually felt even more intensely, the freedom of uncertainty being paradoxically burdensome, as though singleness was a chain, a suffocating relationship dominated by the uncontrollable control of our thoughts in the prison of own solitary little worlds with only the tiresome company of me, myself and I, and no one else that was quite as interesting as the company of those that once possessed our presence and attention so fully on the horizon, as the walls of our own disappointment keep us from seeing other opportunities for love outside of the experience of wonder and regret we keep reliving to ourselves, until the ghost of what was is exorcised from our minds by the passage of time unwinding our sentiments from the spool of our tightly-wound skeins of our personal sensitivities.

    Your poem reminds me of one of my favorite sad songs that I’ve been listening to a lot on repeat recently:

    “Sleepwalking”
    by Beat Radio

    Summer is gone don’t know where the days went
    Me and my friends descend into basements
    When we were kids we did things the same way
    Queen of the street and ghost of the midway

    We come together to hold each other up
    Broken guitars and wine from paper cups

    Cmon come on
    Sometimes you feel the pain of everyone
    Sometimes you feel like you’re the only one
    Sleepwalking in the mid day sun

    We came apart
    Everyone said it was a work of art
    16 bit troubles for my 8 bit heart
    A mad mission from the very start

    I’m moving slow so everyone wonders
    Nothing could break the spell that I’m under
    Love is a map of stars and I’m lost in the words
    on the page I can’t get across.

    And if I could I know we’d be just fine
    I get no sleep but I’m dreaming all time

    Cmon come on
    This is the story of a town gone wrong
    And we’re together cause we don’t belong
    And everyone we used to know is gone

    We came apart
    Everyone said it was a work of art
    16 bit troubles for my 8 bit heart
    A mad mission from the very start

    Who was it that said
    That death is the remedy
    Nearly all singers dream of?
    Well, let that be my elegy

    Cmon come on
    Sometimes you feel the pain of everyone
    Sometimes you feel like you’re the only one
    Sleepwalking in the mid day sun

    We came apart
    Everyone said it was a work of art
    16 bit troubles for my 8 bit heart
    A mad mission from the very start

    Cmon come on
    This is the story of a town gone wrong
    And we’re together cause we don’t belong
    And everyone we used to know is gone

    We came apart
    Everyone said it was a work of art
    16 bit troubles for my 8 bit heart
    A mad mission from the very start

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    • Thank you, Ry!

      To be honest, it was an impromptu… I’m sure that you noticed crossed names with Pepper’s last post, Red-Flags. I did it specially. It was kinda my comment, my answer… my tribute for her brilliant work.
      My bold dancing shadow.
      I wrote this extremely fast. I just freed that flow. I don’t do this often. But yesterday… OK…
      Let it be.

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    • I love Lindsey Sterling’s work! Yes, I noticed the similarities to Pepper’s post, and yes, I read in your comments before I made mine that your poem flowed quickly for you… that inspired the prose in the first comment that I wrote, that also flowed quickly for me. That kind of quick, free-flowing thing is called Stream-of-Consciousness writing, when you just write your flowing thoughts quickly, without much, if any editing or filtering. It came so easily to me while writing my first comment, that I decided to continue writing my flowing thoughts, which I shared in my post from last night, which I see you have already read and liked. Thanks for the inspiration Unbolt! 😀

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