lover Archives | The ManifestStation

Green is the Color of My Lover’s Eyes

December 7, 2016

By Madhvi Ramani

Berlin is a city built on swamp land. In summer, the lakes ripple dark green, leaves turn in the sunlight, weeds spread like thrush. Sometimes, the smell of sewers wafts through the streets. Even behind sunglasses, I catch the glisten of sweat on skin, and my body stirs.

I haven’t had sex for months. Not since the last relationship singed my insides. My body retreats, deferring to the wisdom of my mind. Never again. Touching another human will hurt, eventually.

Still, as the days stretch and the heat intensifies, so does my longing. My fingertips tingle, reaching for contact. Maybe all I need to cool myself down is a drink with a man. I decide to go on a date. Continue Reading…

Guest Posts, love, poetry

How to Love a Stranger.

November 13, 2014

By Adina Giannelli.

How about we meet in Chicago, a city neither mine or yours, and see what, if anything, might be found there;

And you will fly in from a small southwestern city, not your own, and I will arrive at O’Hare late, owing to unanticipated flight delays, and I will meet you in the lobby of the Hotel Godfrey, and you will be there, waiting;

And our hotel will be full of Europeans and people looking for a time, a show, a warm body (always a warm body);

And I will talk to you for hours, that night, about unanticipated subjects of all kinds; you ask for a year-by-year recitation of my life, and you ask are you okay? and how are we doing? and does this irritate you, the barrage of questions. Some people find it cloying, you will tell me, but I think it kind;

And we will sleep, strangers in a large cocoon, and your hand will slip quietly over mine;And we will float, curious, upon the muddy waters, in our rapid riverboat, our bodies anchored to metal folding chairs, our necks craning to see the city’s architecture from our watery vantage, the sun shining bright against us, in spite of and through the wind;

And the boat will rock and occasionally rise, the tide high or low (but I don’t know), and we will glide in our seats, unsure of what is flowing forth before us, certain only of our bodies, separate and together, moving easily through space and time;