On almost the incendiary eve
Of deaths and entrances,
When near and strange wounded on London's waves
Have sought your single grave,
One enemy, of many, who knows well
Your heart is luminous
In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,
Will pull the thunderbolts
To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys
And sear just riders back,
Until that one loved least
Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.
- Dylan Thomas, "Deaths and Entrances"
There is something wrong here.
Some smell, tickling the reptilian hindbrain into twitching life.
Skin, sweat and a certain spicy tang...that drifts foglike into the brain.
*frown*
...at the sudden remembered taste of another mouth. Used breath from other lungs pulled into your own, sobbing cries that have both nothing and everything to do with loneliness and pain, ecstacy and worship.
*shake the head*
Clean lines slicing through blue-green water. The hiss and zip of reinforced nylon, the grunt and clink of effort as arms and hands strain at a carbon fiber pole.
Sushi. Fresh and red in the late afternoon sun.
*wince*
The sharp splintering crackle and suddengodalmighty THUNDER. Faces dissolve. Bodies consumed by light and heat and actinic white glare inside a rolling, discordant avalanche of sound and pressure and heat and violence...
*turn away*
*blink*
Let the distant static of a hundred voices wash over you like a soothing balm.
*shake the head again...and...*
*suddenly smile*
It had just not been a good day to die.
*move away quietly, laughing*
