Haitian Heartbreaks & Forbidden Winter Nights

The racing footprints of the sultry winds had stopped dead in their tracks, and the unsung notes of love froze like a contemptuous iceberg between them. It was clogged black magic. It was a queerly dark January afternoon. She heard the enchanted mirrors break themselves in Cinderella chateaus of her unfulfilled bequests. It was the beguiled, crimson eve of blotchy anguish. A throttling legacy of unrequited obsession. It was a deliciously ruthless winter afternoon when she first embraced the first bouquet of fabricated love. Like the caress of a fairy-tale taffeta skirt, disremembered skeptical words that smelt like the clandestine peck of a strawberry shortcake, bittersweet chocolate and dwindling promises brewed from ombre wood smoke. It made her storming heartbeat flutter as if someone had suddenly blinded with a handful of bewitched sawdust. Shaking, she felt the dewy cauldron of his ravenous caresses. It was this plundering hypnotic moment when she first felt the powdery touch of his caramelized kiss of heady, conniving words. His threadbare, tantric charm. His voluptuous antics of lovelorn deception.
Chalky, dusty words, that breathed deeper than the sapphire-filled oceans, words that poured their crumbling grandeur like trickling tears of snowdrops, riddled words that lay perched everywhere. Yes, it was that scandalous, gobbling afternoon when she walked unknowingly into the heart of doom, the ecclesial chapters of unrequited paper towns of untold love.
It was a ridiculously low-lying Haitian café. A gory orange courtyard with swindling charms of myrrh colognes, hints of kneaded cinnamon and vanilla breathing from flaky caricatures of love-bitten oracles, dryads, and mischievous Haitian tarot cards.
Urban fairytales swarmed and crooned, like the prophecies that are never revealed to anyone. Quaint. Timeless. Nestled and mollycoddled, and lost in of time. Silhouetted with teething shades of lust, and ragged cinders of unhinged perversity. Sealed. Moreover, stamped with a forbidden kiss.
A never-ending, engulfing kiss that whisks away the secrets of every murky tarot card, every betrothed whisper. Like the sly, voodoo figurine that that bleats, yelps and shrieks until the prey are callously numb. The one that winds up like the pirouetting parapets of perpetual misfortune as the shabby wisps of the neurotic love potions and mottled twilight threaded into sweet blasphemy.
The quivering stars shone no more and the sky looked more bedraggled, more hapless, more urchin than ever. Slowly, the moonlight bled, fleecing away its glory, as she stared, gazing like a bitten, shuddering rag doll in awe of what had just happened with her in the last few tinker bell moments that changed every crowning winter of her life.
Who is he?
A malicious trickster?
An eccentric specter?
The scornful mad man with a selling tongue?
The commonplace love con artist?
The usual masquerader who trades with vitriolic secrets honeyed with sinister chapters of love, which would haunt her for the lives and the worlds to unravel.
