That’s what he wanted to place into words – the racing of the heart and mind in an exalted panic before the existential drop-off. A brain that couldn’t maintain the pace of intentions. Well, at least that’s what he thought.
A kiss that shudders and shakes, weaves in-and-out and oscillates through the monkey-frame of time and space. Time folds inside out like a Clifford torus or the beanie she ordered him to take off.
Fusing with the landscape, the accumulated unconscious bundle of history, topography, textures, memories, could-have-beens shared with the multitude, shared with him, shared in photos, in a ‘cloud’ incorporeal. Shared in the spaces in between from the first pillar to the final crumble.
He felt no cataclysm, no catastrophe could sweep him away with the alliance of a love, something more eternal and a priori than themselves.
Everything was renewed, everything irksome held away. If only for a one millionth billionth of a millisecond on a cold misty morning.