The Seizured Color of Orgasm
01.19.01
11.23.03
“What’s unnatural, I mean, are there things you can study?” A human context. A bowl of grape gravy on chocolate goose. Next Christmas I want to send everyone lavishly wrapped boxes of calcified elephant dung. Each crested with a single, gilded flea. I imagine what I would look like without hands, without a nose, eyes, toes, if I had two pinkies instead of a thumb, toes on my hands and fingers on my feet, six fingers on one hand and four on the other. Last night my lover tied me to the bed with four long strips of black lace and sucked my toes, lips, fingers, nipples, clitoris. I came and the paint purple taste of plums exploded through my mouth and eyes. I thought I smelled ripe tomatoes splatter on concrete. I saw endless flats of pastel pink and blue and tasted custards mixed with perfect hues corresponding to all the best colors of innocence his fingers tapped my collarbone and I heard synthesized piano chords. His moans in my mouth tasted like olive vinegar. I’m all yucky though, we just had sex I protested realizing he wanted to go down on me but he smiled elfin and said that just makes it kinkier and kissing him after my tongue slid crusts of milky taste and saltfruit from his lips I felt him penetrating me with fingers, tongue, closed my eyes to feel my mmm’s vibrating through my body, wondered how an actual vibrator would feel and blushed as, while I lay thinking he reached over and removed it from the nightstand. Everything was the seizured color of orgasm. I opened my desire-lidded eyes to watch the glow in the dark stars above my bed turn pink and flutter hotly down around me—one landed on my shoulder and I felt a second of perfect heat before it melted silver in my skin.
“The observation of some sort of pattern”
11.23.03
“What’s unnatural, I mean, are there things you can study?” A human context. A bowl of grape gravy on chocolate goose. Next Christmas I want to send everyone lavishly wrapped boxes of calcified elephant dung. Each crested with a single, gilded flea. I imagine what I would look like without hands, without a nose, eyes, toes, if I had two pinkies instead of a thumb, toes on my hands and fingers on my feet, six fingers on one hand and four on the other. Last night my lover tied me to the bed with four long strips of black lace and sucked my toes, lips, fingers, nipples, clitoris. I came and the paint purple taste of plums exploded through my mouth and eyes. I thought I smelled ripe tomatoes splatter on concrete. I saw endless flats of pastel pink and blue and tasted custards mixed with perfect hues corresponding to all the best colors of innocence his fingers tapped my collarbone and I heard synthesized piano chords. His moans in my mouth tasted like olive vinegar. I’m all yucky though, we just had sex I protested realizing he wanted to go down on me but he smiled elfin and said that just makes it kinkier and kissing him after my tongue slid crusts of milky taste and saltfruit from his lips I felt him penetrating me with fingers, tongue, closed my eyes to feel my mmm’s vibrating through my body, wondered how an actual vibrator would feel and blushed as, while I lay thinking he reached over and removed it from the nightstand. Everything was the seizured color of orgasm. I opened my desire-lidded eyes to watch the glow in the dark stars above my bed turn pink and flutter hotly down around me—one landed on my shoulder and I felt a second of perfect heat before it melted silver in my skin.
“The observation of some sort of pattern”
posted by Octavia at 4:17 AM
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