Morphogenesis I

Warm, her hand. Soft, smooth, something in how she holds to stop the shaking of own. Amazing, all of it, the one tiny point in space where flesh meets and all that surrounds, not physically, but in the other ways. Thanks, said she, thanks.

"You're quite welcome, I suppose, although I don't honestly know that I did anything to be thanked for."

"I don't know; maybe you didn't. I guess it's just nice to feel like I'm, in whatever sense, with someone in more than just a superficial way."

"Personally, I'm finding it quite nice to feel like I'm with someone at all. It's been a while. Beyond that, though, I'm overjoyed to not be experiencing the outright rejection that I would have anticipated had I taken even a second to think about what I was doing."

(retrospection to possible anticipations a potential lookingahead to whatoncewas a potenital lookingahead that neverwas in bizarre introspecive dance across timelines absurdity inentirety but done everyday in everymind subtle as breath and complicated as any delusion)

Her hand gives a bit of a squeeze, feel that throughout as a sort of clenching warmness. Euphoric comfort. "Actually, I think what I was thanking you for was just your throwing the first punch."

"I see. Why, had you been planning on doing the same?"

"In essence, but I doubt that I could have pulled it off with such finesse."

"Finesse? Moi? Surely you jest."

"Compared to what I might've done after another hour or so, yeah."

"Dare I ask?"

Cranes her neck, looking down over the edge of the bench. "Hey, nice shoes..."

"Really? Is that so?"

Grins, eyes giving one of those half-deviously seductive looks. "Maybe. I guess we'll never know, now." Laughs.

(fantasyflash leatherbound asphyxiation showers oral in that anal kind of way and anal in that oral kind of way transmute precious companionship into fulfillment of hormones deny the value of lust but wannafuck wannafuck wannaFUCK until all them pungent juices done rundry and watch you notbreathe for that moment of littledeath then moan with exhaustion rolloffame to light a cigarette to help you notbreath for justabitlonger a sacrifice of body and mind to just a few chemicals contained therein but nonotyet)

"My word! How, dare I say, spunky of you."

"Excuse me while I do my best to avoid comenting on your choice of words, but, okay, it probably wouldn't have been quite that bad. I think you got my point, though; I was kind of operating under this delicate misture of confidence, curiosity, and uncertainty, with each part constantly getting stronger, and, well, you get the idea."

"Certainly, certainly." Use the one free hand to light up a cigarette, mildly awkward. "Amazing, isn't it, that we've known each other for, what, two years now, and nothing like this has ever happened before?"

"I don't know about that. I mean, I don't think we ever really knew each other until tonight."

"Perhaps not. Nonetheless, though - "

"Nonetheless, yeah, it is a bit strange. I've definately had some interest in you since we first met, but you're not the sort of guy that I could just walk up to and say something to. I thought about doing that a few times, sure, but you always just seemed too distant."

"I suppose I was."

(total eclipse of the mask disseminate illogicalities overandabove Plato's little plaything as he wouldhaveyou define every pore with your sharpestknife without ever taking the lowroad dancingwith chemicals orgasms and indistinguishable fancy parade awayfrom the thirteen dying gods andspurnthem in favor of the thirteen godly deaths withandwithout sandstone sharpening blocks and incessant discoveryof points in space somewhere betwixt thine eyes and the nearest fucking object when all that was wanted was illusion and masks and fourlegged crosses spinning ex stasis despite Castalian whispers of Scotland before ye)

"So, what happened? What changed?"

Good question, there. What did happen? "I can't say that I'm entirely sure, really." Distant? Reserved, guarded, emphasising persona, id and even ego hiding behind... distance. Circular, in a way. A sliver of Ourobouros, unfold to a Moebius strip. Sure, tell her that, explains everything. "I suppose it may have something to do with the inordinate amount of time I've gone without really having anyone in particular to distance myself from. Perhaps I just fell out of the habit."

"Wow. That all just sounded like n incredibly round-about way of feeling sorry for yourself."

Look down at their hands, enfolded. "'Sorry for myself' is not exactly what I'm feeling at the moment."

(natures manifesting fourwalled heterogeny in glandular repetition of thatwhich is precededby no entirely antecedent to foundationsandleylines despite spirals of continuity disrupting only mirrorsalreadyfractured your interpretation precedes you sir but politelaugh it seems my thyroid is acting up again you'll just have to excuse me if I repeat myself sir you won't mind too terribly much sir will you sir mirrorsalreadyfractured sir dispute no thing of spiralfracturing sir Stones Irritate Rectums sir my conceptof twelfthcentury Mongolianethics is acting up again sir you'll have to excuse me if I repeat yourself sir you never raped anyone overtwenty nosir this monologue is approaching asortof critical mass sir itseems it willhave no choice but to return to natures manifesting fourwalled heterogeny in glandular repetition of thatwhich is precededby no)

Another of those devastatingly warm hand squeezes, a smile too from her. Strange the way the assumptions poured out upon the taking of a very few small actions. Actions with countless possible interpretations, as well. Apparently no over-assumptions yet, unless she's giving deception. Two years of desire unexpectedly released. Torrential. Both doing a bit of the old too-fast too-far, certainly, but in the words of a very wise man: Fuck it. When in doubt, fuck it; when not in doubt, get in doubt. Twisted roots of Dennis Hopper's family tree.

Withdraws her hand, turns facing away to put her legs up on the bench, her back leaning up towards the shoulder. Reach left hand over to take hold of hers again, cradle her in a way. Laughs. "This reminds me of a few high school romances I had."

See her point, chuckle. "I know the feeling. I suppose you could say that, were 'naīve' a verb, we've just naīved each other."

Laughs again. "Wow, man, it's like you just took ten years off my life."

"As long as I don't take another ten, I think we'll be all right."

"I don't know about that; you might already be pushing a statutory suit."

"You know what they say: If there's grass on the field..."

More laughter, sardonic edge to it somehow. "Sicko."

"Ouch. No wonder I was always so distant, as you ever-so tactfully put it."

"Oh, please. Don't tell me you actually thought I meant that."

(no wife)

"Of course I didn't."

(no horse)

"Good. I wouldn't want to offend such an exalted god as yourself."

(no mustache)

"For my wrath is mighty, and yea, thou wouldst be smote."

"Strike me down, and I shall become more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"Hold on, now: Are you a goddess, or a Jedi?"

"Three pounds of flax."

"Really? What an astounding coincidence! It just so happens that I, myself, am dried shit on a stick."

"Wow. A match made in Midgaard."

"No, it must have been Asgaard. Midgaard's too good for us."

"Hey, is that Mjollnir in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"

(no strife)

"All of the above, and then some."

(no force)

"Some what?"

(no impact)

"My apologies. I forgot to think it through that far."

"Hey, do you know what time it is?"

Hold up the wrist, fortunately the free one. Seven thirty-nine. "It looks to be about quarter to eight."

"If you're still up fro it, I can show you where I, uh, don't-really-work."

"My, how romantic."

"Shut up. Let's go."

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