In Response to The Handmaiden dir. By Park Chan-Wook

Akira Ritos

​
 

I slip satin gloves off at night.

Hours where I can touch 

 

myself freely, without 

weight of a man’s sin 

 

on my unfurled brow. 

Quietly, I conjure her 

 

moon-colored chest, 

candied laughter, voice

 

the tinkling of jade bells.

Overwhelmed with a 

 

desire so dark that it

tints my tongue and 

 

wets my nails. The 

rubbing of a sharp tooth,

 

her eyes ripe and 

untouched. These books

 

cannot portray in paltry

watercolor—oh—how I wish 

 

to paint her. To drape her 

body in words that are 

 

mine and 

mine alone.