The night is ablaze with
hormones and
sweat and the hot sticky
breath that floats through the air and defines itself, sets itself apart from the non-space of the room with pure determination. I rush between rooms, between places,
between thoughts and everywhere I carry the atmosphere with me. The night is sweating with me.
Go to the coffee shop. Go to the bar. Go to the club.
Everything is in motion. Everyone is moving. I see her and I can feel her in
the deep fleshy part of my chest where emotion originates from pure chemical fury. I can only imagine what she thinks of me, if she thinks of me, how well my pheromones are communicating what I wouldn’t even dare to think. I wonder, and the night keeps on blurring past.
She is perfect. That is to say, she is a woman and she has brought me to an
apex of interest which is reserved for this sort of mid-night dalliance. The crowd around us mixes and spins like
cigarette smoke under a streetlight and just as smoke it dissipates until we seem to be alone under the warm light.
Fluorescents would destroy the moment with
jagged edges of shadow, slicing the experience into an infinite and infinitely perceptible collection of images at the rate of 120Hz, but the warm glow of an ancient light bulb washes over the two of us as if it were the sun itself. The light pours down upon us, highlighting
the bronze in her skin and the fear in my eyes.
I take a beat.
Hold your breath. Count to ten. Say a prayer.
She notices me. She takes a beat.
And the moment shatters into pure lust as we realize each other’s intentions and reveal our true emotions. We don’t say a word; we don’t need to say anything. We are eternal in that moment of realization. We are perfect in that moment of realization.
Suddenly I realized that if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom.
The rest of the evening is incidental, nothing more than a collection of images: caressing
the small of her neck, laughing for
no reason, crying for no reason, holding each other as
the night grows into morning and the morning grows into afternoon.
Somehow, we are in a park beneath the torn paper edge of a cloudy sky. The
green grass springs beneath our tangled bodies and we smile at the day that is burning around us.