In loving collaboration with
Yvonne Zeegers
Your hand on my waist. / Your fingers on my arm. / Your leg between my legs when you hold me. / Your skin on my skin. / The way you look at me when I change my shirt. / The way you slouch, then stand up straight again. / Your glasses on my desk. / Your skin on my skin.
The way you guide my hands to your face. / The way you comfort me while we get horny. / I’m always surprised by how softly you touch me. / You push your fingers in my mouth. / Oh!
Your awkward elbows, hypermobile! Those ligaments protruding from your inward turning knees – your Achilles’ heel. You’ll get old early. I can feel it in the way you breathe – faster than I do – forcing me to either follow you and hyperventilate or take one breath for every two you take, which makes me feel like I’m choking.
You make my ear hurt. / … / Your sperm feels like a cure-all. Like breast-milk. / … / I need it deep inside my ear. / Why don’t your breasts give milk? I suck them, but they don’t give milk. / … / Are your breasts broken? Do they need to be cured too?
I want to fuck you and call you fish names. / Pike me! / Carp me! / Trout me! / I want to smell you on my hand. While I eat grapes, I want to smell you. I want every grape I eat to taste of grape, and of your … / Perch? / Cod?
I want to be so into you I can sleep while fucking. / Eat while fucking. / Weep while fucking. / Fuck other people while fucking you.
Great apes are not known to be territorial creatures. / But I want you to be so … / so … / so … / so … / so … / so … / so territorial it hurts! / To be without you.
I want to be ill from drinking too much on the couch in the other room as our threesome turns into your twosome. I want to be on the back of your bike after your twosome and hold you, and you tell me about how you fucked and I’m too ill to be turned on. I press the side of my face to your back, and you’re warm, and the way your legs move make my head move side to side, and I’m too ill to be turned on.
I hope you make someone pregnant and they keep it. I want you to think about me while you’re holding your child.
I want you to see how it lacks my features. I want to show you how cruel I can be to show you how nice I’ve been to you.
Shouldn’t we just have had a child?
We should hire a cleaning lady and call her Fantasialand. When we’re old and in bed. And we’re so old we don’t want to fuck no more. I want to look at you look at her clean, and imagine you imagining me doing that cleaning. But less well! I’m so bad at cleaning! It’s like I’m a porn star cleaning your house! And you’re about to come home early and inappropriately flirt with me! Fuck me on the couch before your wife gets home.
Why did we stop having sex?
Because I respect you too much as an artist. / Fuck you. / How can I be turned on by someone so brilliant? And so good looking? / I fucking hate you. / I hate fucking you too.
I want to have a child with you and be jealous because you love her more than me. Fucking admit it already, you’d love her more than me! You would save her from a building. I want to hand her to you as I’m stuck under the rubble. I want to ask you to mix my ashes with strawberry-flavoured lube. Play a remembrance song on your worn-out iPhone while you think of me while you fuck yourself. I want you to lick your fingers when you come. Taste it all combined!
Aren’t we fucking art? / We fucking are! We fucking are! / Isn’t that what this is? / We’re fucking art! / Are we making art because we stopped fucking?
Why are you always making things difficult? / Why can’t we just hate each other like normal people?
We broke up months ago. / It’s been two years. / Actually. / You make my head hurt.
Aren’t we getting a bit old to act upon bad ideas? / Isn’t it a bit cliché to create art instead of children?
Are you right about us? / Or are we the eternal lovers you want us to be?
I spoke to my new girlfriend about making this piece and she said: ‘I know she’s your great love.’ / I don’t think about love in that way. / ‘I have accepted that,’ she said.
‘I just hope I can be one of them.’ / There’s just love. / And I felt guilty.
Falling in love. Loving. / But in some way, I love her more for saying it.
An I-can’t-imagine-you-ever-not-being-in-my-life kind of feeling.
A feeling of something that hasn’t ended yet.
But it did end. / It did.