Between the passing hours, I think about that swimming pool I used to go to when I was a kid, and how you show me those days by spreading yourself so wide. The magic is real, and as I skip around drunk and on the brink, there’s nothing anyone can say that will dissuade me from believing in the things I feel inside. When your fingers peel it back, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There are volcanoes and exploding stars. There are dinosaur bones and a shattered moon that sits upon the globe like a crown of thorns, and as you give me your truth, my tongue tastes it all, and it tastes like white wine and pine trees, or is it those sweets that would turn my childish tongue a strange colour? What were they called again? Black Jack’s, right? Yeah, that’s the one. Maybe you’ll let me place a few inside of you so I can see what happens. Maybe you’ll come into bloom, or you’ll act as a vessel for the first sounds that came from the creation of the universe. That swimming pool, though. The tingle in my belly as the water did weird things to me that wouldn’t be felt again until years later when women became real and not just images on a computer screen. Those vending machines after you got changed and the waiting area people would sit in while watching those splashing around on the other side of the glass divider. Wouldn’t happen nowadays. Too many perverts about. And so you show me lightning and colliding planets. You show all futures and all pasts, and when I close my eyes, I find myself spinning in a field with the rain lashing down upon my ageing face. Each droplet is a knife that pierces me like your gaze, and in this giddy moment, I am a child in my mother’s arms. I am a glowing orb speeding through the stratosphere. In your gaze, time melts and my soul knows only the freedom it yearns more than anything.
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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