message in a bottle, notes to a stranger; Electra’s dictionary (jm muse chronicles as guide through hell)

At first the adrenalin seems to keep us from winding down after, as he sits up in bed with his laptop

but still, I hear the music echo in my head .... even as the fight in me is momentarily exhausted, I feel tension next to him —I want to know what he did to me and how he did it .... and I go over the bits my mind has not erased

is it that I should not trust him?

Or that I can’t trust him.... because I don’t know how ....? only how do I know the ones to trust?  the ones you feel the most for ....are the most dangerous

walls and masks like shields....nothing comes in and nothing ....


as I turn my side away from him, he reaches for me anyway

and pulls me inside his cocoon along with his laptop, no doubt doing his spy work; checking emails—indeed; as the cosmic ones await reply

I think about the pirate ....with the vampire eyes; those wise and tragic, ageless eyes with their wild and fierce beauty

and find I wonder why it is that she decides to trust him

Is it that he is the only barricade against a barbaric world —? as he is one of the tribe of a species she fears—does she find safety in him because he is the best defense?

only I know it is something else

something that lies inside the vampire eyes that haunt through lifetimes and never die

but my thoughts still persist disrupted and go in circles,

Gerald said a prize

Jörn puts his laptop down and reaches suddenly for me, but my mind is still much disturbed and I jolt and pull away from him which —upsets him....?

I think it is his reaction that surprises me.... he looks at me like ....

I am not familiar with what it means —because I don’t think, till now, I have ever seen him reveal anything

“What is it?” I ask him as it somehow shocks me

but he only looks at me like that .... and then we sit facing each other on his bed, my knees up to my chest

“You don’t trust me?” he says it like a slap as his eyes burn into me

and I find that I wonder at the anger in his eyes

—only no.... it is not anger. I am mistaken

He reaches for me anyway  ....and at first I want him to because of his eyes— something I have never seen.... but something makes me try to stop him and then I am confused ....

because I want to just go within myself ....

to try to understand what he did to me at the piano .... and I guess withdraw ....from him —because it is my defense and my oldest MO of all

 ....which is why

I start to fight him; I attack him physically with pathetic punches that barely land and kicks that hurt me more

“Do you really not trust me, duva? Even after all this time?” he takes my wrists and holds me down

“How do I know what you have been up to with all your secrets? What have you proven to me?” I ask, “you demand everything, don’t you? But what do you share?”

even as that is true, I think somehow.... I know.... that really, I am not really fighting him, am I? I am fighting something else; something inside a dark safe ....which he knows ....and he’s known it all along .... because he has been figuring me out


 ....or thinks he has—is it just for his spy collection jars? His dossier

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” I ask him, “like some notch in your belt.”

—I think, like his toy puzzle for his amusement ....trying to figure out how all the pieces go together for.... him to exploit? —once he has

“What are you talking about?” he says leaning over me and lets go my wrists, his hair now fallen loose from the tie during our struggle in long golden streams past his chin, and though caught by what I look at, seeing him as an artist sees a muse to paint, I think:

My code is my worth

—is that what Gerald meant?

a prize?

I stare at his mouth and reach up to touch him and put my fingers in his hair to feel its texture and then reach to pull his head to me to kiss him but he stops me and stares into my eyes

—prizes and pirate’s jewels and eyes like slate that dazzle like a pirate’s gems; such wise and tragic, ageless eyes with their fierce and wild beauty

“Do you really not trust me, duva?” he asks again and now he takes hold of both my wrists and pulls them over my head and looks down at me, then touches me like it is an unquenchable need....

no, not anger, it is something else