By the time I took my clothes off for him in winter and stepped naked into our pool steaming at the Banyan Tree,
I had won the trip in a lucky draw at Pacific Coffee
in Hong Kong.
I showered for him.
I showered with him.
I showered him with my body.
By the time we checked in to the hotel,
I had already pretended I did not see him asking the customs officer at the airport not to flash a ring around she found in his luggage.
By the time he had the ring made I had said to him:
“You either marry me or I’m leaving you”.
We’d sit at home playing backgammon late into the night,
him saying:
“We don’t need to marry to live and have children together.
Marriage was designed to trap women and ensure a man’s offspring inherit his land.”
I’d say:
“I want children soon. I’m not having children outside of marriage”
By the time we arrived in Lijiang,
he had crossed oceans to follow me.
Canberra
Sydney
Bali
Paris
Sevilla
By the time we had breakfast,
I had posed for his camera naked,
my hair in a bun,
my pussy waxed.
Then we moved hotels.
By the time we reached Shangri-La,
we were four thousand meters above sea level.
The air was thin.
Oxygen tanks were part of the minibar.
I left him breathless.
We stayed in a Mongolian chalet.
The Himalayas white,
piercing the atmosphere in the distance.
By the time we watched
the costumes,
the waves of dancers,
Mongolian chevaliers at full gallop,
drums beating, flags flying
I had said yes.
