I am plump and short, my face is uncontrived and smiling. When I am
serious, I am told, I am like a battered and deserted child and this
provokes in you an ancient cuddling instinct. When I am proximate, your
body and your soul are unrestrained. I watch you kindly and the
artificial lighting of this magnific vestibule bounces off my glasses.
My eyes are cradled in blackened pouches of withered skin. I draw your
gaze by sighing sadly and rubbing them with weary hands. You incline
our body, gulp the piquant libation, and sign the document. Then,
leaning back, you shut exhausted eyes. There is no doubt: you realise
your error.
It's not too late. The document lies there, it's ready for the tearing.
But you refrain. You will not do it.
"Another drink?" - You ask.
I smile, my chubby cheeks and wire glasses sparkle.
"No, thanks" - I say.
Janusz Courts Dinah
by Sam Vaknin
Janusz thrusts his head through the illuminated window, deep into the
house, his desperate shadow bedaubed across the wall. We shelter Dinah,
a chimera of heads and bodies, protecting her from Janusz, from his
love, from his contorted face, as he bawls, in his intellectual accent:
"But I want Dinah, let me speak with Dinah!"
Dinah's face alight, attainted red.
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