Atomic Whispers

There is a perfume to distance and wisdom in not asking questions you really don't want the answer to. Long distances affairs are at once brutal and beautiful.

The brutality is the distance. The yearning. Like a needle filled with calamity and numbing teasing the surface of the ragged, tissue-thin skin.

Beautiful in its breathless desire and thrill of meeting like it was the very first time. Your blonde hair golden--as though I've never seen it before.....my face nestled in the heat of your neck. Everything pouring over me like it was the first taste. Feeling your pulse against my flushed, drunken cheeks. The Dutch airline stewardess always generous with the vodka before I land in the world of ancient kingdoms.

Thin wisp of diamonds around my wrist. Feverish pitch of lust and anxiety as you drive me 'home'.
All the things you whisper to me....atomic in their allusion.

I feel safe. I feel hungry. This madness is like drinking blood for the first time. Let me hide in the ethereal joy and catastrophic pain, sipping it from expensive bottles. Exquisite.

I think you've done this before.











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