-the what? i asked.
-the curry whiskey clove pepper bang right in the middle of the middleface of all that ails and all that falls up tight too tight to begin with, he replied words slinging 'round the room. but now you're talking about some kind of whoashit - am i right i know i am.
-i'll take two.
-two? his eyes a-brow raised.
-one and half then if that's all that needs be done.
he slipped it me 'cross the agitated nervy tension edge, the kind that comes from love and sex of others too close to avoid and i swallowed it down nearly all but not quite nearly thinking on the days to come and the knowed needed relief i knowed i'd be needin'.
as i started to slipping into the inside i started to thinking back on dark night with face-a-flush inside the tension box remembering the just before sleep memories that come into the head as the head is emptying all else for a moment's peace, for some kind of release, and as the doubling back came into view i felt again the ache sick for a cuddle-up and a curl with whisperbreath of tenderest tendresse unknown, unfelt, le parapluie parfait doux. jesus don't you know that you coulda died, you shoulda died, but a quarter of a century after a fact of a life or a choice (depending on your slant) that leatherold question has changed still air hang heavy but changed for all intents charged intensely changed.
and then dim lighting flash silent thunder strike just this go-round not so dim not so silent so bright so loud teeth shake bone rattle crushing down into the innermost of insides a feeling that fades as if through pores unknown untested but with a question left...
-what's your preferences on thunder? he asked.
i, silent blinking unphrased,
-i'm not sure anymore.
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