And as the two of you lay on my bed, nude and glistening like two taut and lean swordfish, aqueous. kissing one another, twisting in paroxysms of delicate infinity, the explosive inner decibels, the hushed groaning of your lips pique my fear as I watch the magpie eat the apple of the orchard, stabbing his nose into the moist red juices and the hushed ochres of the garden and I stand naked, semi-erect drinking my cigarette, smoking my wine with cheese in my fingernails and grape juice on the bed.

I stand listless, my barely erect spine, my barely erect temple, my sore back, more S shaped more enveloped in a fuzzy torpor, my head humming against the great blooming buzzing confusion as I stare out to the coast and Dublin and the Poolbeg Lighthouse, two hooped chimney stacks red and white, not blinking red now in the day but standing stark at the horizon some skeletal junkie tapping for a vein with the smell of salt in his nostrils and tombstone ink in his veins I stand here gazing out, peering out at the horizon while you both kiss and touch waiting for my monotonous, droning throb while I refrain from cumming inside you, while you achieve multiples and I suck your earlobes, your toes, get to the sweat, the winds percolate their scents about my bedroom with both of you in it, with the three of  us in it engaged in this mystic pact, a muted tryst of the morning, no words just hushed, primal emissions from our mouths, our bodies coalescing, the taste of Marlboro, goat’s cheese, grape juice and morning brandy on our breaths, you were taking cocaine last night, your libido pressed against the glass and sweat dripping from the backs of your knees and the only word we can utter are “deeper” “faster” “deeper” “slower” “deeper”, like an ancient verse and ancient incantation spreading spirit against the wood’s night sky and stellar sauna baking all frost and stars in the sinuous mists of the twilight now hours have passed, deep reveries and carnal ballet, the three of us slipping in and out of consciousness, rousing only to murmur or purr…..and then I awake, and you’re both gone, leaving me to wash myself solemnly and embark once again into the wide Dublin night to find the next epicurean to fortify me against this deep black and cruel nausea, a crass and empty reel.

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