(C) “SOME KIND OF PARADISE”

From the diary of Max Ray (1997)


She is…..
Like a delicate goddess made of brown glass.
Like fragile butterfly’s wings,
Like a rare orchid,
Like a terracotta figurine.
If you touch her, she’d almost get smudged.


She’s intriguing and baffling at the same time
Like a painting by Dali
She’s deceptively unsure of herself
Like a tackle by Paolo Maldini
Her image I can instantly evoke
Not having to skillfully recreate,
With shut eyes,
On the dark inner side of my eyelids,
The optical replica of my beloved face,
A little ghost in natural colors
This is how I see Winnie
In the laboratory of my mind


She just walked into the bedroom
Oh, she’s looking so totally hot.
I could totally have her, right now
Yes my lovely bitch
Then she bends over
My shoulder
And asks me what I’m writing
“That’s such a misogynistic way of looking at women….
Treating them like sex objects….that’s so inhuman”
How is it human to not want sex? I say
And then we kill the lights


I love waking her up so that I could talk to her
And I love that as she listens with her big, sleepy, eyes
She looks at me incredulously, every time
As if I’m the best thing in the whole world
And she’s surprised as to how I don’t know this
Incredulous eyes


Eyes that had more melodrama
Than a Mexican soap opera
Cinema is dead.
Godard killed it
I incarnated it in her


I love watching the hair strands on the neighboring pillow
First thing in the morning
I love the wild, imaginative sex
Last thing in the night
Winnie- light of my life, fire of my nights


Today we stayed in bed
Wild attempts we made
We sprawled all morning, in,
And took advantage of every blessed moment
In space and time
To touch each other;
To graze each other's hungry lips;
Her quivering mouth
On mine
I love her scent of some kind of lavender biscuit


Her mysterious intake of breath came near to my face in the dark
With a generosity that was ready to offer me everything
Her heart
Her throat
Her entrails (of which more later)


She trembled and twitched
With the expression of a dream upon her face
Her legs, her lovely live legs, were not too close together
I was on my knees
Solitary ecstasies


And as I’m going to work today
With my aching veins and a telltale smile
That four poster bed,
The haze of her caress,
The tingle of her touch,
The flame of her mouth,
The honey-dew skin
And the ache,
Remain with me