Pat Gunn (dachte) wrote,
Pat Gunn


It started with a kiss. The cold, still body, a familiar face he never saw... The lightest touch of saliva burning on the lips... Another kiss. He closed his eyes... a loss, a rebirth, and a sacrifice. The saliva continued to burn on the mouth, its payload invisibly moving towards its goal.

Confusion. Who am I? Strong painful sensation, urge to stop it. How?

He rested on top of the body, holding its head in his arms. A private moment, a private act. An open-mouth kiss. Closer than any lover could be, lacking the essential distance, small by society's scales but large here, for a relationship.

It is sight.. It is bright. Holding me. Holding me? Touch.Why?

Who is that touching me? Who am I? His hair, his eyes..recognition? What is love?

Itches.. headache.. dizzy.. nanites filtering through the blood.. What's a nanite? Laboratory.. what is happening to me? This isn't love.. That's my face!

He awoke, hours later, his mind finally completed. He stretched his body, not as old as he remembered, his stomach slim and flat. He could feel everything so vividly.. But what had happened? Why was he left? He remembered everything up to a few days ago.. Then there was just an urgent need and a feeling of sorrow. Where had he gone? Had he left to die?

Tags: poetry

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