L.A. Sex

Last night I drank the darkness, the 4 a.m. shadows, the adagio in D minor. The world was in slow motion and it tasted like a waterfall of red velvet, Heaven in my mouth. Every breath was a step closer to the orgasm, the apotheosis of the seraphic song in the spiritual body, foolproof perfection in the glittering eyes of misguided youth. Graphic, colourful images of life's end burned into memory in the lucid flow of the breaking of atoms. I washed onto the soul's island, seeing things before they happen.

In plastic sheets the truth lies, spat out by a grinding saw, where legends are made on Sunset Boulevard. The pink sky is in the distance, and the lights of the evening from Mulholland Drive are frozen in an aging photograph, in the defects of multiple scenarios flaking off at the crux of a decision. I am everything. Folded over with mouthfuls of ice cream, with the deepest sadness. This morning I have an infection.