Author S. K. Nicholas

Illicit. Complicit. A sandcastle of hopes and fears, dissolved as the quarter circle sun spins out of control on the horizon. All the love in the world. All the sex you could ever muster, smeared across your chest. The beating drums of faith, ringing in your pretty little ears. Holes of abstraction. Fit me together, and push me in. Fingers on the teeth of a piano. Lips tasting all that needs to be tasted. You can change anything. Everything is bewildering. Energy so fluid as we dance in the darkness of a thousand lost November nights. Remember where you came from. Remember what you are. I am a collector. A deflector of useless things. These times, they blur like shooting stars and clenched fists full of love and passion. A plague upon your tongue. A million ghosts seeping into your softened skull. Every last kiss, blowing in the wind down the empty streets of Venice. From sand to stone, we feed romance to the ones that need it most. We give in to temptation and let go of everything that has no meaning. Be brave. Be lucid. Fuck from Paris to Beijing. Flap your wings through the fire and go someplace where you truly belong. Within me, and within you.

And all we ever do is swim. All we ever do is reveal then cover up. Waiting for the pieces to fall into place. Waiting for someone to appear who will make us whole again. Some kind of superhero to heal the cracks in our void. Someone who’ll understand the sadness we breathe in as natural as air. The silence is what binds us. What pulls us together and makes us complete. The flesh is what ignites our fury. For when we collide, we rage until all sparks are extinguished. Be feverish in your need. Be simple in the desire to see another’s smile. Reach out and never let go. Eyes wide shut, and full of every emotion you’ve ever felt. Your whole life leading to this moment. Sweetness like fruit. Spreading legs and seeds on the cusp of understanding. All flowered up. The scent of a lover, clinging to bedsheets and the hairs on a heavy chest. The hand of year zero, passing from me to you then back again. It rains. It pisses down without restraint. You make me tender. You make me raise a white flag when you reduce me down to a single dot.

Suck on a cigarette. Suck on me. We’re all broken made complete in the gaze of unflinching desire. Some great pilgrimage to the source of unstoppable salvation. Brushing past the waves of infidelity, there’s a dream that scratches at your skin. It makes you weak, and it makes you thirsty for all that bursts at the seams. No fear. No god but god. The day you stood inside something wonderful and became everything you ever wanted to be. Fragile like the cry of a bird lost at sea. The two of us, wrapped up in the need for something more. You and me, me and you. Baited breath. Fallen trees. The howling of monsters. Sleepless nights of terror. On the floor and in the bed. Submission and broken ribs. Suffocated and bruised. If you will, then I will too. If you let me in, then I’ll fill you full of stars. White elephants. Babies eyes on the storks of paper bags. Let me take what I want. Let me be whatever you want me to be. Honey on your breasts, ready for pollinating. A hazy kinda shuffle. A muffled fuck as a billion suns explode above our frenzied, wild heads.

This is now.

And now is the time to rise.