decoherence

---

wet. 

sweat slithering between our bodies, it clings to my neck.

it’s hot in

july. even hotter with him on top of me. 

outside, the world pulses; there’s laughter, the sounds of life at a nearby cafe. a baby cries. 

inside he’s finding all the places he’s memorized;

it isn’t enough.


i want to escape the flesh that contains me; i want to 

distill myself into a single drop;

suspend it into a fluid;   

                                floating

 ;   e x p a n d i n g

dispersing me into the aether;


bring me back to the 
source.


he pants; eyes blood shot, pupils blown. 

and still it isn’t enough. 

still, i can’t scrub myself of this feeling. even with the hot, wet

stickiness between my legs;

my throat is parched. i blink and the ceiling comes back into focus; his body is large, too large, too heavy all at once.

too close.

roll over; catch air.

feed it into my lungs until they expand. it still isn’t enough. outside someone is singing; a guitar is strumming. 

someone is laughing.

outside…

“hey, you okay?” he calls, and for a second, i think he cares.

he hands me a glass of water.

i press the sweat away from my neck, and stare into his eyes.

i try to find the soul there.

“babe, you sure you okay?”

i was so close.

i swallow.

the world shatters into sharp particles; electric charges, neutral ones.  they thrum into the air between us until they close my throat.

my skin slithers; gooseflesh erupting down my spine, and i nod.

“yeah.” i set the glass back down.  “i’m fine.”

---