Quantum Prose.

Quantum Prose/Langauge Night.It rained.He stood in front of the brownstone. It was like a movie, he waited for her to come down and open the door. Let him in, like a wolf into the fold. That wasn't him though he wished it were as Minus the Bear's 'White Mystery;' played steadily in his ears. The clack clack of the door joslted him out of his reverie. " You just gonna stand there and get wet."
She stood in the doorway waiting for him. "I'd rather it were you then me." He smirked. She smirked back "Get in here." She pulled him by his moist leather jacket, as bass keys from Childish Gambino's 'Heartbeat' began to play. They walked up the rickety stairs narrow stairs that sighed as pressure was applied from  the soles of his feet. The smell reminded him of his dads old apartment, old wood and maple syrup. The door was open and she motioned for him to take off his boots and hang up his jacket. He responded in kind as she walked into the kitchen and came back with two small white porcelain cups and a bottle of peach Sake. The only alcohol he ever touched, she wanted him loose, eased of tension. She poured the clear liquid into the cups and they toasted, to them. Taking a sip she put her cup down and went into her bedroom, returning a second later with a leather bound note book, an elastic band was keeping it closed and the tassel was wedge between two pages near the end. She opened it carefully ,sliding the elastic band off slowly, delicately. Prelude to a strip tease he thought. She leafed through the pages examining them intimately with her thumb and forefinger. He felt something rising in his chest, spinning clockwise, sliding slowly in all directions like light breaking across shadow. She slid her fingers between the binding and the tassel removing it carefully and slowly, the image of removing panties flashed across his frontal lobe and he was instantly ready. She locked eyes with him then began to read, a poem something long and sweet. He more felt it than heard it, he felt her intent. He shifted and took off his shocks, they were damp and uncomfortable as the air became hot.He hadn't took his eyes off of her and even still she seemed less clothed she looked up at him, hunger there in her eyes, no not hunger something else. Something older, something primal sensual and knowing, inviting and subduing. "And it came like r-r-rapid fire," She rolled her r's Spanish girls he thought, while smiling. By the time she finished they were both sweating , there was a wave in the room that had been stuck on cresting permanently and it begged to crash, longed for it. She smiled her petite frame moving gracefully as she put down the book. "Well, don't leave me in suspense."She looked like a child waiting to be scolded. "It was... I felt it." For a writer words failed him at the wrong times. Emotion took over, her weight on the couch broke his his thoughts up like a cookie in milk. Small girl with a legendary ass she told him once. He chuckled in spite of himself. "What's so funny." She looked at him perplexed and half expectant. He smiled ."You." He said communicating lip to lip. He bit her bottom lip like a signature and she responded in kind. Her shirt was open in a moment and his hands massaged the small golden brown globes of her chest.He kneaded them and the nervousness that usually precluded the act had never appeared for him, there was something to be savored in the peach sake flavored kisses. Something smooth and bass ridden like a song that made you want to slide right in...to whatever it was you were doing. What he was doing or about to, just so happened to be her. His buttons snapped apart,she'd liked him in the shirt. Her pants slid off just as easy, the couch would do, the bed was too far at least he thought so, but he asked anyway. "Why ruin the mood Hero." Her nickname for him on account that his main dish was comics. The dance ensued, the tangle of limbs the 'beast with two backs' Shakeaspeare called it. Didn't seem like a beast to him, It was more like Sarte's being and nothingness. The moment, movement and momentum, the wash of sensory perception, the oscillating angles and the staccato sound of joining again, again, againnnnnnn....she sang a high note so beautiful it cracked the sky. The wave crashed dashing the the thoughts of sadness and the mundane, but consequently crushing the same euphoria that washed away those negative thoughts. Numb they were shaking, numb they were sated, numb they were nothing. They sloughed to the bedroom, when they lie down the bed hummed lightly as if to say finally I'm being put to use. The Devil that was daybreak woke him. She slept on his chest, her favorite pillow. He shifted under her and lay her head down on the goose feathers, the bathroom like a walk in closet with a claw-foot bathtub. He looked at himself in the mirror, his dreadlocks were unkempt and he would need to shave soon. He'd been back home for a week and things had metamorphosed into a strange cocktail of physical intimacy and an atavistic need to immerse himself in the culture of his hometown. That coupled with the pursuit of his writing career sat on his shoulders like a specter that wouldn't let go. All of this formed in his head spilling from his subconscious mind flowing one into the other, folding like the the language of photons forming into a sort of quantum prose.He didn't want to feel like he failed for coming back home, but having lived on his own had made him hungry for an upgrade.Living at his mother's house was not what he was trying to do for the remainder of his life. He splashed water on his face and tried to piece together the fragments of yesterday while contemplating tomorrow's future. His mind worked like that. It was an montage of rolling words made of colors on a background of sounds. This was the difference between living, life, existing in it and surviving it. This was life for him and he would need to embrace it and enjoy it, like all tomorrow's parties.