I had written this about 8 years ago.  I had wandered upon Pablo Neruda by accident mainly.  I believe I read the lines “forgetting is so long” from his poem Tonight I write the Saddest Lines.  I looked him up and read a lot of his poems.  This particular one, Drunk as Drunk, struck a chord and I wanted to write a story around it.

I had to tweak it a bit as I had originally written it as a first person telling from the male character’s point of view.  I had also had an idea where he would be a non-native English speaking person where some of the words would be slightly awkward but I decided against that as it didn’t work well when I was re-reading it.  So if there are any errors in there it was a quick retype and I might have missed something.

While placing the paper on the podium she stood motionless, then looked as if she was composing herself before starting to read.  Her arm twitched upward, then with an unwarranted straightening of the sheet she cleared her throat.  With a quick, but nervous smile she began to read the words typed on the sheet.  Her voice was sweet and soft, and sounded almost shy as she spoke.  Her lips gained confidence as the verses slipped out.

The words were spoken as stale as they were old.  There was no passion in what she was saying.  She merely read them without feeling them.  He stopped her a few verses from the end.

“No no no,” he said through the glass, “that was mediocre.”

He walked from the mixing room to the studio and stood next to her.

“These words are passionate.  These words are lust.  These words are meant to set your heart on fire and make you lose your breath.”

He continued to try to inspire her with hand gestures and eye contact.

“Speak these words as if you were whispering them into the ear of a lover that you were desperately trying to get in bed with you.  Speak them as if they were inside of you trying to escape.  Like they caught wind in your chest and vibrated all the way up your throat  until bursting from your lips.  Now try it again.  Read the first few lines.”

She now was shy and embarrassed.  Embarrassed that he could be so passionate about hearing her voice and these words and she couldn’t even muster enough passion to read them back to him.  It was easily visible in her eyes.  As she began to speak he stopped her again.

“Wait.  Just a moment,” she paused and hung her head.  He took a step behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear.

“Stand up straight, darling.  When saying these words you are in love.  Your body is mesmerized by your desire and its heart beats in sync with their breath.”

She became startled at his aggressive grasp and blushed as his words tickled her ears.  He continued to whisper softly against her skin after she adjusted her stature and stood tall.

“The words should arouse you.  Move you.  Strip your clothing from your body as you speak them.  Speak from your desire.  Down here.”

His left hand thrust from around her waist to the crevasse between her legs.  She jumped.  He could hear her breathing become heavy in either arousal or nerves.  Her muscles grew tight and cautious while his fingers penetrated her thighs.

“Now close your eyes,” he whispered.

“Go ahead.  Close them and feel your desire.  Making love to another.  Their lips, their hands, their body all open for you.  Then open your eyes again and read the words as if they were traveling up through your body.  Let them create a burning flame deep inside of you and drag it upwards to your lips so it can escape.”

She opened her eyes as he stopped talking.  The first sound to escape her lips was a moan as his palm pressed deeper into her pelvis.  Her eyes gazed down at the page and she began to read.  As the words poured from her like a small brook down a wooded hillside his hand traveled up her body.  Verse by verse, breath by breath.


“Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake”


Each line spoken with a new yearning to have the letters wrapped around her body like a man’s rugged arms.  She quivered like the words were kissing her neck and the wet bodies were pressed against her.  She could not breathe.
“Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it – our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal –
Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.”


His left hand now at her navel.  His face burried in her hair and right hand around her waist keeping her secure against him.  Safe against him.  Her feminine voice filled with confidence.  The sounds lapping off of her tongue.  She can feel each syllable.  She gains momentum and strength as she recites Neruda’s poem.  Cruising past the middle with ease.

“Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,

Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope”

As she conquered the first two-thirds his hand ran its way up her body.  Expelling the words from her, like the cure for a poison.  Her voice began to crack as his hand grew higher on her frame.  He made summit to her breasts and she nearly hyper-ventilated wanting to know what would come next.  Barely able to read the word longed, repeating the first syllable three times before completing its entirety.  A hand pressed in tight and held her back to his chest, then slid upwards splitting the shapely bosom to each side and causing her to moan in pleasure along with the word rope as if she might have reached orgasm at that moment.

“Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.”

The final verses ran out quickly, as if they were finished before even being said.  Her body unable to withstand anymore and weakly, meekly shuddering against him.  The last line whispered with her eyes closed and her body resting into him under her own power.  His hands both made their way to her hips and gently turned her around to face him.

She shyly looked down and he placed his hand under her chin and raised her eyes upward to greet her gaze with a smile, to which she answered with a kiss.  With her lips charged she unleashed herself onto him.  The kiss started as a gentle thank you.  It ran the gauntlet thereafter and expanded to I want you, I need you and finally I have to have you.

Their clothes were ripped from their bodies in violent passion.  Her body melted to his as they connected.  The heat rose.  They felt each other so deeply she could make him move at her whim and he could push her lips to his with a thought.  She threw everything upon him and he carried it.  He knelt at her feet and she prayed.  They made love in silence.  Their voices needing only ecstasy.


6 thoughts on “Neruda

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