Synesthesia
Muscles and sinews containing people meet and join and undulate against one another in a language too poignant to be spoken. Suddenly, quietly, i lose anchor and i am falling, slipping out of this reality and into my own. My eyes refocus and i vortex into the vision of her body, every line of it rebranding itself into me with unerring memory of the sweetest hatred. i can feel his hands on her skin, both hand and skin electrified and liquid with each other's proximity. My visions of them are surely sharper than their actual experience. Them. The chiasm has set in, not dizzying, simply awakening me to my own separate inescapable self, remolding itself to my thoughts, reshaping the lines of my body - all lumps and angles and indefinite hues. There is no me now in the sinews, nor even any sinews left to speak of - i am a millpond of thought turned feeling, turned vision. i am the Untouchable watching the Unattainable, devouring it with all of my senses plus one. Funny how much more alive i feel in this little universe, my self turned so sharply inward that it doubles in upon its roots. Grounded. Clear. Through the pooling folds of my body i see them, i watch them... in some small corner of me i pray to escape notice. i do not wish to have to break out of my spell to dispell their concerns. Just so long as they do not see my eyes. Well, so long as He doesnt. See all the way down to where i've gone. This is MY pleasure, my own brand of masochism. My answer to the language of muscle and sinew, but an octave higher, a bit more resonant, purer in its ability to distill the symphony to a single note.