Milky, fleshy thighs...
Fantasy. Death-dreams and the psychologist; desire driven. Deadly. Where was I... Breath. Yes. Back to breath.
The in-breath; life. The out-breath; death. Inhaling, exhaling. Living, dying. Arising and passing away. Dissolving. In a daze of sunny days maze-made with Amanda's milky thighs, and deep divine entrance... breath, inhaling, Doctor Death, exhaling, death. Must be forty-five minutes by now. Nearly done. Back to breath: Inflation, deflation - burning up and burning out. Coming, going. Slowly quietening, yes, slowly settling. Yes... clarity:
Through the body, flickerings of sensation like lightning storms reveal the invisible. Birdsongs from beyond pain. Who... No, no question of who. .. ! Fall out into black void. Blinked out of existence and non-existence. Splattered into the indeterminate ....... !
Snapped back to no who! MMmm. Wow! No what nor where. Where was "I"? Altogether gone. Beyond death.
His eyes open to the luminescence of a full, blue moon upon the carpet floow. Perfectly round. Within it, a million dancing motes collide and career, a million curving wonderful curves. In his chest he becomes aware of sensations whirring, like TV static, fuzzing. But, they slowly fade.
Then, of a sudden, mind and body are cast off to reveal immaculate emptiness and insight into absolute death. Then, there is a stillness beyond word and in this unblemished space, a mind gasps. He comes back to himself, astonished.
A blue moon melts into the carpet floor.
Death, John thinks, his lips pursing slightly. Death is coming.