A Seaside Morning, Slowed To Quarter Speed

Dry-Humping Parnassus

Smell the flowers while you can. – David Wojnarowicz

You were somewhere deep in the intercourse of a dream
when the alarm went off. You rolled over, killed the alarm,
and glared at the low-hanging grayness outside—then you
pulled yourself out of bed and walked to the kitchen to start
the coffee. You needed more time to sleep, but the time
had already planned its escape, and as the coffee brewed,
you paused for a moment, lulled into a dead stare at the fuel
filling its glass tank and getting ready to ignite. And the vague

lethargy that held you there staring at it knew that you weren’t
focused on the liquid, but rather the deep, nebulous well its blackness
represented as you watched it climb to the top: the deeper knowledge
that something important was being drained to make room for what
that blackness meant. You forced yourself to look…

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