Terror Fusion

Never mind the punitive eyes of arrested gawkers. Eat from my plate. And more to the point, use your hands. There is no supply of folded napkins. They would only play upon the worst keys of our self-consciousness. What of the stiff compliance expected from us? We have already seeded enough ground to the impromptu jurors of our trial. The line between you and I will not hold for much longer. If that sliver of impropriety is too gelatinous to tear, let it melt away in the crystalline bowl of hot water. Be advised; rising steam is not a painless antiseptic. It will hurt, but what is that against the courtly pleasure of mutual grooming? Now dip your fingers and clean the face of your beloved. Remove all the grease and worry. Let our evening wear show the evidence of our appetite. We on the other hand must distinguish ourselves from the rank of new world turkey vultures. Our faces will not be stained with death. Only a dotting love prevents this kind of embarrassment. Unrestrained hunger implicates the countenance unless Eros dissolves it. Nothing else can make us clean. Leverage their stares into a solemn witness of this careless union. Press into me, and allow my embrace to run over the allotted time that is due near acquaintances. We are better than them because we are more honest. If your beautician plucks at your eyebrow, It will be my screech that is heard. And if the viceroy coerces my labor past agreement, we will both faint together in the field. You can not scratch me out of spite, because it is your flesh. Nor can I strike your check, because you have become my dignity. Our friends will shrivel like shucks of corn flayed by the sun. They wilt at mere continuance of our superfluous touch, the radius of which is a chilled oblivion. The life that once flowed outward as a river is now concentrated into a dangerous confluence of burning identity and purpose. Just for us. Should we burst, I believe our remains could reverse desert conditions into Eden.