Your fingertips glance
Glide press down there
Glissade here yes
Definitely right there
Now your touch
Locks me up
In a prism of colour
Jade hazel verdigris
Slate azure golden
Still-point the centre
Implosion the taste
Of mouths filled
Consumed with star
Light turning inward
The horizon event
Vanilla honeyed tristesse.
We were supposed to wait,
Only on the count of five, Uno, dos, tres, cuatro,
But we breakdown before,
Just can’t resist the finality,
Taking XTC to the last XYZ
So here is my master-plan,
We touch, angelic juxtas
Poised angled positions pressing
Skins closer inching mouths
Salty sharpness of tooth
Sliver tongues crescent lips
Searching to assuage
Sucking biting licking kneading
Seeking some succour from
Suicidal weariness so we ball
The only way we know how,
Hard, harder and hardest yet,
For though we can’t tame
The magnificent striped beast,
The menacing stippled tiger
We can at least ride and ride
Until the world ends with
The softest of sighs
Uno, dos, tres
I never looked at you in a sexual way before
But I am now and I’ve got a feeling
That once started I will find this cute
Compulsion near nigh impossible to stop
Now that the scales have fallen
From my eyes and you are transfigured
Into a Valkyrie, an angel, a vamp
An incandescent imago razing
My mind with intuitive intensity
Reducing my chaotic complexity
To a single lust, one driving desire
To possess you so that I can in turn
Be possessed and then engulfed,
No longer thrashing in the shallows,
Diving into the depths, a plaything
Of strong currents, subject to
The ebb and flow of tides
Battered by breakers and waves
Hearing oceanic roar, whale-songs
And the susurration of sighs
Only with you do I want or wish
To turn the petit mort into
An epic grand mal, a seizure to
Pause creation in its tracks.
But after that, what then?
I realise inside that your enigmatic
Wayward essence eludes, escapes
Me still; In my phantasy I have
Turned you into an alluring succubus
But it means nothing unless you
Reciprocate, dream of me,
In the dead of night, as an incubus.
What is the law?
-The whole of the law is that love is all.
What is love?
-The collision, then the collusion, of wills.
What is the will?
-The power to make desire the living reality.
What is desire?
-The manifestation of imagination.
What is imagination?
-The knowledge of the magical universe.
What is magic?
-The hidden force that enacts the law.
Chambre Close is the collaboration between the writer Serge Bramly and the photographer Bettina Rheims. The elegant and cultured tone of the confessions of Mister X, an amateur photographer and voyeur who lures models back to shabby hotel rooms to engage in acts of ‘visual adultery’ is contrasted against the clinical detachment and raw intimacy of Rheims colour images.
Rheims is justly renowned for her studies of female nudes. As she herself notes, “I love flesh. I am a photographer of the skin.”